


Distrait Ficlets

by temporalDecay



Series: distrait shorts [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 166
Words: 36,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalDecay/pseuds/temporalDecay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of the fills for my 3 sentence and time stamp memes in tumblr, as well as a ficlets that are too short to be posted all on their own, all set in the Distraitverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Psii, "Get off my lawn"

**Author's Note:**

> Posting the original prompt at the beginning of each chapter, please read each for warnings, etc.
> 
> Since this are fairly sure, you should probably view [the entire work](http://archiveofourown.org/works/927625?view_full_work=true) all at once.

**For anon's birthday: Psii tells people to get off his lawn.**

  


* * *

  


There are five golden rules, aboard the  _Leviathan_.

  1. Do not contradict the Captain.
  2. Do not insult the Head Navigator.
  3. Do not eat the Head Admin’s snacks.
  4. Do not make note of Chancellor’s height, or his tea, or his horns, or his teeth, or his  _anything_.
  5. Do not upset the Helmsman.



You are a smart troll. You might be young, but as soon as you were assigned to  _the Chancellor’s personal ship_ , you made an effort to prove you’re a smart troll. You learned the rules, the important ones and the ones in the manual, and you gave it your best. Working in the bridge is pretty exciting, and a lot more taxing than anything schoolfeeding lead you to believe. There are no real breaks and no real dead time to chat or socialize or goof about. The Captain is nearly always sitting in her chair, which looks a lot more like a throne than anything else, and she has an uncanny ability to know when someone isn’t working as hard as they should. And even when the Captain isn’t around, the Head Navigator is. She kind of terrifies you a little, to be honest. She’s just too happy and too cheerful all the time, you can’t help but feel something’s about to go impossibly wrong.

And then there are the times the Head Admin stomps into the bridge and hisses very loudly at either the Captain or the Head Navigator and everyone pretends real hard to not be there, because while individually they’re kind of scary, together in the same room they’re pretty terrifying.

Today, somehow, manages to be even  _worse_.

The Chancellor is here. Having a heated four way argument with the Head Admin, the Head Navigator and the Captain, while the Captain of the _Acheron_  is snidely snarking at them through the main display. You don’t like the Captain of the  _Acheron_. She’s pretty  _terrifying_. Which is a feat considering how many terrifying people there are in the world. You’re busy hunching over your station, busy typing coordinates and keeping an eye on radiation readings and trying really hard not to hear anything you shouldn’t, which is  _anything_.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, get off my fucking lawn."

There’s a very long, awkward silence after that. You didn’t notice when the Helmsman came in, because you were busy trying not to notice anything you shouldn’t and  _holy shit_ , you don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak before. Apparently this is really a novelty and not just you being an obnoxious newbie because the entirety of the bridge is deadly still.

“ _Excuuuuuuuuse_  me?”

Very slowly, very stealthily, you risk looking over your shoulder, to where the five most important trolls aboard the ship are standing. The Helmsman is standing off to the side on his own, leaning on his cane and looking incredibly unamused.

"I said get off my lawn, you fucking kids. You’re being stupid."

"Hey—" The Chancellor begins, but before he can get any further, the Helmsman smacks him with his cane. " _Ow!_ ”

You just saw it happen and you still can’t quite believe it.

"Psii— _ow!_ The fuck did I even do?”

And there goes the Head Admin. Right between the horns, too. You’re kind of staring and you can’t stop. The Head Navigator giggles fiendishly and raises her hands in surrender. She still gets a smack on her side anyway. You wonder if the Captain is next, but the Captain of the  _Acheron_  interrupts before anything can happen.

"Heeeeeeeey, Sour Captor, no need to get in a mood."

"Shut up, Serket," the Helmsman says, with a deadpan you envy a little. "You’re giving me a headache." He gives the other four a very pointed look. "You’re being stupid. Stop that."

And then he turns around and hobbles away with this strange sort of magnificence you’re not really sure you can put to words. There’s a lot of screaming, in the aftermath, but only after the Helmsman is gone. When your shift is finally over, you go about inquiring the necessary steps to join the Helmsman’s fanclub.

You do believe you just met the walking definition of  _cool_.


	2. Eridan, what did you do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to [this fic](http://notavodkashot.tumblr.com/post/55480789774/temporaldecay-notavodkashot-watching-titans), in Distraitverse. ~~In which I speculate where Rie is taking that monster, from what I know of Shaula.~~

 

* * *

 

"It’s not what it looks like," Eridan says, raising both hands placatingly, “I did it to myself."

"He did," the… oh, oh god. The spitting image of Vriska fucking Serket says, as she tightens the bandages. “Fuck me sideways with a chainsaw if I know  _how_ , though.”

"Innate talent," Eridan deadpans, shooing her off his person as he tests the bandage on the wound. “Anyway, it’s not what it looks like and I’ll appreciate it if you don’t flip your shit about it just yet. Please."


	3. Feferi, picking a title

 

* * *

 

You leave picking a title to the last moment, because despite Aradia’s boost of confidence and Sollux’s overwhelming statistics, you feel like it’d be hubris to pick one before you win your battle with your Ancestor.

Afterwards, you spend hours mulling on her words, scarce and stinging as they were, and focus on your recovery while you try to come up with a title that encapsulated your feelings about assuming control of the Empire: your pride in your people, for surviving against such unfair odds, your willingness to compromise and make things better, your desire for peace and prosperity. You don’t want to be like your Ancestor, even though you are the same blood, but you also don’t want to be rash and upturn the Empire and everything it stands for in one fell-swoop.

You choose Complacence, in the end, and decide it’s a good choice when you see Aradia’s eyes dance with knowledge she won’t share; you decide to take it as a good omen, then.


	4. Nepeta and Tavros, run into each other at work

 

* * *

 

"I wish you’d announce yourself, at least sometimes," you say, trying to keep yourself calm despite the fact your quarters are now in disarray and there’s blood everywhere. “Or at least sent some, uh, kind of warning about this, eh, kind of thing that you do."

"Sorry," Nepeta says, sounding not even the least bit contrite, as she wipes her claws clean with the remnants of your rug, “the unexpected is the best part of the hunt! Like a surprise party!"

"Of corpses, maybe," you deadpan, to the best of your ability, and sigh loudly as you go sit on the only chair still standing in the entire block. “Thank you for, eh, not letting them murder me. I guess."


	5. Psii, you badass, you

 

* * *

 

"You’re just showing off," you say, voice a little strangled as the wind whips your hair and pushes at your face.

"If not now, when?" Aradia asks, keeping up with him with startling ease.

And Psii laughs, quiet and rueful, and his powers are warm around you, so you know it will be alright.


	6. Gamzee, having fun

 

* * *

 

"Aww," you say, as she empties her sylladex and dumps two perfectly intact seadweller corpses at your feet, “the motherfucking kitten cares."

"The motherfucking kitten took a dare," she snaps, crawling up the stairs of your throne and then up your legs into your lap, where she entertains herself sharpening her claws against the thick hide of your stomach. “You lost."

"Got new paint," you retort, reaching down to tilt her chin up and leer into her face. “Ain’t looking like a loss from here."


	7. Eridan, space whales

 

* * *

Equius and Karkat and Psii and Harper and Agness and Sollux and motherfucking  _Terezi_  open their mouths at the same time, staring at you.

"Don’t," you hiss, quiet and composed and pretending really hard the entire left side of your body isn’t twitching and spasming out of sheer annoyance. “Just. Don’t."

You promise yourself enough alcohol to down a musclebeast, when the crowd starts cheering like mad; you doubt anyone’ll deny you, at this point.

 


	8. Phylia, be terrified of the head admin

 

* * *

 

"Admin Ampora?" You look up - and up and up, because you’re positively tiny and he’s seadweller  _huge_  - and endeavor to look cautious and respectful when he turns your way. “When is the Helmsman’s wriggling day?” He blinks, taken aback by the question, though not angry - you hope, few things are as terrifying aboard the  _Leviathan_ , than Admin Ampora  _angry_  - so you rush out the explanation before he can make up his mind to take offence. “It’s just… me and the guys, we were thinking, if it was okay with Admin Quippu, and you of course, if we could maybe throw him a party down there? N-not because of… you know, just. He likes to hang out there and everyone likes him a lot, and he seemed to enjoy himself during Elysah’s—I mean, Helmsman Cyanic’s party, but then we realized we don’t know when his wriggling day is, so we figured you’d know and drew sticks and I got the shorter one so here I am please don’t be mad sir we don’t mean any disrespect.”

He arches an eyebrow at you, which makes you feel even smaller, but only shakes his head slightly.

"The Helmsman doesn’t celebrate his wriggling day," he says, and your bloodpusher sinks to your knees. A funny look crosses Admin Ampora’s face, though, before he smiles. It’s the nicest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. You wonder if he’s going to kill you. “Talk to Admin Quippu about the details and throw the party any day, just don’t tell him it’s for his wriggling day. He dislikes thinking about his own age, and has long since stopped keeping count." He smirks then, and you relax because maybe you’re not going to die. “And if a request for lambda honey makes its way to my desk prior to that hypothetical party, I might, in a moment of distraction, authorize it without looking at it."


	9. Eridan and Psii, after a party

 

* * *

 

"You are  _loved_ ,” you say, slow and measured, sitting on the floor of the trap under the steady rain of hot water, as you slowly and gently wash your moirail’s back and wrestle with his muscles until they relax. “You _deserve_  to be loved,” you go on, silently wishing you had a larger block to do this in, but not really caring because you can feel the sparks tingling against your palms. “It’s  _okay_  if you’re happy,” it took you a long, long time to perfect the mantra, to find the right words that resonate with the right parts of his mind.

_You are loved. You deserved to be loved. It’s okay if you’re happy._

They’re not the words you’d like to say - not enough profanity, not enough threats to disembowel anyone who disagreed, not enough _anything_ \- but they’re the words he needs, so you sit him in the trap with you and make a show of washing his back when the whole point is draping yourself on him and repeating the words over and over until they’ve permeated deep enough for him to step away from the guilt, if only for a little while. When he leans back against you and admits quietly to have enjoyed himself immensely at the party the Helmsmen kids threw for him, you feel like you just won the fucking lottery.


	10. Vriska and Terezi, too broken to fix

 

* * *

 

"How do you do it, honestly?" You ask, safe behind the curtain of alcohol obscuring your thoughts. “Because I’ve tried, so help me god, I’ve tried so hard, and at the end of the day I regret most of it, but you just keep going on without giving one single, solitary fuck about any of it."

"You made a choice," Vriska says, serious, quiet, withdrawn, and for once she sounds her age, with the vicious lashes of Time plastered all over her voice, reminders of every stupid thing she’s ever done, “so you get to regret it."

"You did too," you snap, sniffing loudly, pointedly, “you always had a choice."

"The only choice I ever made was between greatness and obscurity," she smiles, reeking of something rotten that makes you want to gag. “Everything else was a given."

"So you don’t regret anything," you snort, sad and disappointed and angry, because she was your sister once, and she’s not anymore.

"I don’t have the luxury," she says, tilting back her drink, and you wonder how long since your sister died.


	11. Equius, grimdark

 

* * *

 

_It wouldn’t work out_ , she said, demure and quiet and you want her so bad the only thing your mind registers is the fact she didn’t say  _no_.

"Would…" you swallow hard, ignoring the deluge of sweat down your face and your back, making hair and fabric stick to your skin, “would you not want to try at least?"

Aradia stares up at you, eyes gentle and kind, and your knees melt under her gaze. You take a sharp breath as she floats up, matching your height with her powers, and delicately pulls your sunglasses off, baring your eyes to her. Then she slides her lips against yours, feather like, and the world collapses all around you in a singularity of  _dark_.

Reality melts around the edges and your mind screams inside your skull as visions of what lurks beyond the Void flood your consciousness, along with the indescribable note of something so beyond your senses and your understanding it’s fraying the edges of your sanity, draining you of the very essence of yourself until all that’s left is a gnarled knot of emotion and unintelligible music that defies the steady dance of Time and Space.

Then she pulls back, when you’re at breaking point, taking shadows and darkness and that song with her, and leaving you hollow and aching and  _terrified_.

"It wouldn’t work," she says, and for the first time you see the darkness laced in the vibrant rust of her eyes, the coils of the unknown writhing at her feet. “It’s for the best."

You agree, because to admit you love her even more now, than you did before, would only bring her grief. You know you will spend the rest of your life trying to replicate the echo of that chorus of nothingness in the vast emptiness of your soul, because for a fleeting moment you were _theirs_ , and one day, somehow, you’ll find your way back. She’s right, it wouldn’t work, but not, you think, for the reasons she’d expect.


	12. Sollux, Aradia and Feferi, movie night

 

* * *

 

"I have a great selection tonight," Sollux says, flopping down into the pile of cushions with a sated grin, “and I win again, I found every item in the list."

"You so didn’t find a yellowblood fucking a subjugglator with their own club," Feferi laughs in disbelief. “They wouldn’t dare, Gamzee would flay them alive."

"I found the entire fucking market," Sollux grins, full of teeth, “no less than sixty-seven different flicks, there’s even a couple with mutants in them."

"So nice to see they’ve found their place in the Empire," Aradia giggles, one eyebrow arched, “maybe there’s hope for them yet."

"I’ll believe you when I see it," Feferi insists, reaching over to poke Sollux’s side teasingly, well aware how ticklish he could be. “I swear you have to be making this in your spare time. If anyone has the digital resources is you."

"My Empress, are you accusing me of making porn instead of running your Empire for you?" Sollux pretended to look wounded.

"Karkat runs my Empire for me," Feferi grinned, “you just like being nosy."

"So glad you appreciate my efforts, FF," the screen lights up as Sollux sank between the two of them, putting up a show of being miffed, “I feel so honored."


	13. Kanaya, best day at work

 

* * *

 

You take tea with your dinner, a sweet, airy concoction made with a plant grown in your gardens. It does absolutely nothing but reminding your tastebuds there are other tastes than the tang of blood, which you drink next, with a mix of anticoagulants that leave it more like wine than anything else. After a quiet and uneventful shift, which you spent in the comforting solitude of your books, the blood has about the same effect as the wine.

Soon you’ll report to Feferi your findings and perhaps converse with Terezi about hers. Another unremarkable day, productive, empty. You could sew, once you reach your quarters, before going to sleep, but that would make the day remarkable and you wouldn’t be able to forget it, then.


	14. Eridan, first night as head admin

 

* * *

 

"You’re gonna do fine, kid," Munire says, rolling his eyes and reaching out to ruffle your hair, “it ain’t that bad."

"Admin Ithaka threw himself out of an airlock," you deadpan, trying your best to ignore the fact your gastric sack is twisting into knots in your gut.

"Admin Ithaka was a moron who made Nav Exequy cry," the tealblood snorts, “leaving aside the fact Exequy is a fucking harpy when she’s mad, Ithaka would have had to deal with the Captain for hurting her moirail, and I think you will agree the airlock was the less painful option there."

"That’s not really all that comforting," you shift nervously in place, fiddling with the armband that suddenly feels like it weights a ton, “when I’m meeting with them in five minutes."


	15. Equius, who is that and what are they holding

 

* * *

 

"Needles," Agness deadpans, almost in self-defense, raising said needles and the tail of yarn caught in them, “you know, for knitting."

“ _Why?_ " Equius demands, bewildered.

"Why  _not_?” She hasn’t stopped knitting, either, arching an eyebrow at him. “I’ll knit you a scarf if you want.”


	16. Karkat, accused of horn mods

 

* * *

 

"I don’t do shady work," Molloy snaps, looking indignant, “you want shady work, you go ask the Chancellor who filed his horns that fucking badly."

It takes Eridan about twenty minutes to stop laughing and by then he’s sitting on the floor by the corner with his head between his knees because he can’t breathe.

"I don’t see what’s funny," he sniffs disdainfully, turning back to his needles. “Have you looked at them? Really look at them, I mean, without the serendipity pity thing you two are doing? They’re so uneven, it’s  _ludicrous_.”


	17. Karkat, your matesprit and kismesis are friends

 

* * *

 

"— _shithead_.”

You pause, recognizing the voice as Eridan’s, and unable to resist temptation, you peer into the maintenance shaft where it came from. You find him sitting on a catwalk a good thirty feet below you, with Sollux.

"I might be a shithead," Sollux says, obnoxiously smug, “but what really irks you is that I’m a shithead you  _like_.”

"I’ve made terrible life decisions, fuck, I have the long standing record of terrible life decisions," Eridan snorts, elbowing Sollux in a gesture that is unmistakably friendly. “Me liking you is but another step in perpetuating a well established trend."

"And that, right there, that’s why I explode tablets in your face."

"Because you can’t bear the thought of my dashing, handsome face putting your ugly mug to shame?"

"Because everything that comes out of your mouth pisses me off somehow, but I still like you, you fucking son of a bitch."


	18. Aradia, take a break

  


* * *

  


Horuss Zahhak, the Executor Darkleer, lived six thousand four hundred eight sweeps in the ruins of a city abandoned long before trollkind had an Empress of any kind, after serving the Empire faithfully for nearly a thousand five hundred sweeps. He was awarded a singularly long life, for one of his blood, by a combination of his latent Void powers as a player of a game that has no place in the universe he was hatched into, and the continued presence of the Handmaids, who twisted and eroded Reality itself merely by existing. He never knew how long he lived or why, but Aradia Megido, Last Handmaid to the Most Noble Circle of Horrorterrors and Rightful Emissary from the Furthest Ring, decided upon his death to preserve his home for as long as she herself lived.

Because he had spent so long oozing Void into the rocks themselves, and the Handmaids’ presence had left Time and Space threadbare, Aradia found it singularly easy to tear the entire mountain out of the fabric of reality and to place it the pocket of her dress, where she liked to spend perigees at the time, basking in the soft echo of Darkleer’s life. Void could only fade into Void, so she was allowed respite from her Masters’ voice, and found herself patiently waiting for her Time to come there, absconded from everything else.

She thought of Equius, sometimes, but she never quite decided if she should give him that pocket or not, when she need it no longer.


	19. Dualscar and Garfit, be young and dumb

**Dualscar and Garfit, being young and dumb.**

 

* * *

 

"Well," you say, slowly, feeling alcohol flee your veins without even trying to leave a hangover in its place, "that sure is a spectacular fire."

"It is," Garfit hums, wincing ever so slightly when the fire reaches the cannon supplies and causes a larger explosion.

"We’re as good as fucking dead," you shudder, wondering if it’s even worth it to try and run away. "Your fucking crazy nutjob of an ancestor is going to cull us both."

"Oh, hardly," Garfit is busy picking invisible lint off his clothes, carefully not looking at you in the eye. "He’s going to flay us alive, and we’re very likely to survive it. If anything, it is the infection that will do us in."

"Oh, and here I was fucking worried," you snarl, hands clenching and unclenching as you control the urge to reach out and fling the idiot off the docks and into the icy water below. "Thank fucking god I have you here to split hairs and point out differences like that."

"I like splitting hairs and pointing out differences," he says, obnoxiously demure. You brace yourself. "Just like you like shooting things. Which, need I remind you,  _does not help matters at all_ , right now. Since we’ve exhausted the well of your talents, we might as well try mine.”

“ _Pray tell_ , then, Garfit,” you make a dramatic sweep with your arm, “do your talents include something to help us avoid getting flayed because we’ve somehow managed to get  _his_  ship burnt to ashes?”

He appears to think about it for a moment.

"Not really, no."

You stop resisting the urge and fling him into the water with a swift movement, snarling. It won’t fix anything, but goddammit, it makes you feel better about the imminent doom hanging above your head. In the end, he flays your backs, and it takes nearly fifty sweeps and about two dozen molts before you can swim again without feeling miserable.

Garfit is insufferable about it, mostly because he tends to remark how lucky you are to still be alive after the ordeal. You don’t feel anything remotely close to lucky.


	20. Dualscar and Garfit, be terrible moirails

 

* * *

 

"But—" You hiss as Garfit squeezes your fingers in his grasp to the point you can feel the bones creak; you forget, damn him, but you always forget he chooses to look and act dainty, but there’s absolutely nothing delicate about him.

"You  _will_  look pretty tonight,” he says, enunciating clearly before loosening his grip and going back to painting your claws. “You will be on your very best behavior, too, which means you will shut your fucking maw, and smile winningly at everyone but mostly at me, and under no circumstances will you start a brawl. You  _will_  look pretty and you  _will_  dance with me and the night  _will_  go on without incident, because that will make me happy. And you do so very much want to make me happy, because so help me god, if you fuck this up, Cronus, I will bend you over the banquet table and fuck you with your own damn rifle so hard the tip will come out of your mouth.  _Do you understand_?”

You consider your options carefully before rolling your eyes and sulking with renewed fervor.

“ _Wweh_.”


	21. Nepeta, being a terror

 

* * *

 

No one notices, at first, because there are no witnesses and no fuss raised about it.

No one notices, really, how suspect traitors die quiet, efficient deaths, up until one of them dies in front of an audience of nearly sixteen thousand trolls and not one of them can say exactly what happened or why; the man was giving a spirited speech about the Empress’ anti-highblood policies one moment, and then the next his headless corpse was tumbling forward and spilling blue everywhere, exactly ten minutes before the Subjugglators stormed the place and made things worse.

The head is never found, but the story spreads like wildfire, about the faceless, ghost-like Huntress that massacres traitors before the Subjugglators can find them and takes their heads as trophies just for kicks.


	22. Psii and Karkat, that awkward moment when

 

* * *

 

You feel yourself flushing as the Helmsman laughs, a quiet raspy chuckle that sounds nothing at all like Sollux’s mocking cackles.

"What’s so fucking funny?" You demand, trying to sound authoritative, despite how profoundly embarrassed you feel right now.

"Nothing," the old man says, reaching a hand to ruffle your hair in a truly mortifying fashion, "you just reminded me of someone else."


	23. Dualscar, hatred of being underestimated

 

* * *

 

"I think it’s a stupid idea," Garfit scoffs, absently arranging the folds of their skirt, "you have more than enough feeding the Imperial lusus, to take on the pacification of the seas is to add unnecessary stress to your life."

"Because I can’t handle a little fucking stress?" Dualscar snarls back, narrowing his eyes as he sneers, "like you do?"

"Because you’re a single-minded bloody fool," Garfit snaps, baring their teeth in warning. "Because you’re so concerned with what others might or might not think of you that you forget what matters is who you truly _are_.”


	24. Eridan and Psii, tattoos

 

* * *

 

**_Before_** :

"You  _like_  Harada,” you point out without looking away from the horde of boxy zombies you’re trying to kill to conquer this particular dungeon, “you said so yourself, you’re a fan of his work.”

"Yeah," Eridan mutters petulantly, "but that’s because his work isn’t on _you_.”

You plant torches all around the mobspawner and proceed to loot the nearby chests, engrossed on your game and studiously ignoring the way your moirail is throwing another hissyfit. You’re pretty sure the one that’s supposed to be nervous about this is you, but since you can send your worry to a corner of your pan and ignore it, Eridan seems to be picking up the slack. Seeing you’re not very inclined to pay attention, Eridan moves in to drape himself on your back, burying his face into your neck.

"I just don’t want you to get hurt," he says, miserable, and you snort, unrepentant.

"Says the troll who crawled back into the coon last shift with enough cuts I honestly thought Vantas was trying to make sashimi out of your back." You grin to yourself when he squeaks self-consciously, pressing even closer still. “We talked about things, it’ll be fine.”

"I’d feel better if he weren’t treating this whole thing like a project," Eridan whines, while you barely dodge a creeper explosion in time. "The way he looks at you is creepy."

"He’s an artist," you snort, tilting your head back into the nuzzling, "I just happen to be the canvas, that’s all. I tried to talk him into accepting payment, but he doesn’t want any. I guess that makes me his lifework masterpiece."

"Can we please stop talking about you like you’re a fucking  _thing_?” He scoffs and shifts, resting his chin between your horns, “I’m gonna have enough issues not shooting the fucker once you start bleeding, the idea that he thinks you’re a fucking  _canvas_  while he does it isn’t helping with that.”

You save your game and quit, putting the husktop in sleep mode so you can look at Eridan in the eye.

"Stupid boy," you say, dripping pale in every syllable as you tilt your head back obediently to get a kiss, "now let’s go, I don’t want to be late."

**_After_** :

Eridan is downright reverent with your back, which admittedly still smarts. You’ve made considerable progress in the first session, though it will take many more before all the scars are covered. He’s the gentlest you’ve ever seen him - and admittedly, as his moirail you’ve been exposed to the less abrasive sides of his personality more than most - when he washes your back with near infinite patience. You can’t bring yourself to mind the pampering, something feral and vicious in the back of your mind slowly calming down the more attention he piles on you.

After he’s done washing and rubbing the balm all over your spine, he sits you in his lap and purrs for five minutes before scurrying away to work. You stay on the pile, though, lying on your front and breathing in the scent of you both, basking in the affection and trying not to let it show how starved for it you really are. If you showed it, he’d beat himself over it forever, because there’s nothing quite like Eridan focusing his melodramatic nature on feeling sorry for things he doesn’t have to be.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you - the stupid child loves you more than he reasonably should, all things considered - or that he doesn’t show it - he lavishes attention on you at every chance he gets, in all sorts of stupid, creative ways that are infuriatingly endearing most of the time. It’s just that there’s something in your  _soul_  that feels soothed, at long last, because you’re hurt - sort of - and there’s someone to take care of it. There’s someone who cares if you hurt, who touches you lovingly, like something precious, and who tries to make the hurt go away.

It’s the sheer kindness of it that gets to you, no matter how you try to rationalize it, and you find yourself sprawled on your pile, fiddling with your pillows and feeling stupidly giddy like a teenager because someone _loves_  you and the part of your mind that’s always arguing about that for one reason or another has suddenly fallen silent and can’t quite come up with a reasonable argument why you shouldn’t believe it.

You’re pretty sure this is what happiness feels like, but it’s been so long you’d forgotten it.


	25. Eridan, after imprisonment

 

* * *

 

It begins to dawn on you, that this is not a joke.


	26. Eridan and Agness, first piercing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter meant piercing, not tattoo.

 

* * *

 

"I don’t suppose," Eridan says, long after the excitement has died and everyone else has gone back to their own block, "that you’d… you know."

"I don’t, actually," you say a little wryly, pausing in the middle of a sentence as you try to plow through the mock reports you have to hand in the next shift. "What’s up, Princess?"

"Was it supposed to turn me on?" He blurts out, flushing violet in a strangely endearing way. "Because I’ve been trying not to squirm and it’s been hours but I’m still pretty… you know."

"What?" You ask, because that’s about the only thing you can say.

"I mean, I know it’s not like last time meant anything or, you know, you have to, but it’s been  _hours_. And I still kinda want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.”

You make a sound that doesn’t manage to be words and find yourself flushing slightly. Eridan looks at you with this weird mix of apprehension and need that’s positively pitiful. Your pan is rushing, trying to process his words and what they mean and then you find yourself imagining how much it must have  _hurt_.

"I think we need to move this discussion elsewhere," you rasp out, carefully putting your tablet away. "Like a stall from the conveniently soundproofed ablution block."

"Oh god,  _please_.”


	27. Eridan and Karkat, talk about it

 

* * *

 

"I shouldn’t—"

"It’s not about should or shouldn’t, okay?" You let out a slow, controlled breath. "It’s about what you like. There’s nothing wrong with it, Kar."

"I might  _like_  hurting you,” Karkat snaps back, utterly terrified. “Or maybe not hurting you, but how you get afterwards, and that’s not okay.”

"Considering how much I like it when you do hurt me, I’d say it is." You shake your head. "What’s this about, love? Really?"

"…what if I’m really just a horrible fucking person after all?"

"Oh,  _Kar_.”


	28. Nepeta, aftermath of breathe in

 

* * *

 

You find yourself grinning as the hair on the back of your neck slowly stands on end.

"You’re  _late_ ,” you purr contently, not moving from your perch on the very edge of the cliff that overlooks the base. “Here I thought I was gonna get all the fun for myself for once.”

Gamzee crouches on all fours, fists resting at each side of you as he envelopes your body with his own, as if to remind you he’s much larger than you are. A fool would think he’s trying to intimidate you. Mostly, you think it’s cute he still tries, even now.

"Nah," he smiles, baring his fangs and pressing his face against the side of yours, "but one can’t up and expect a motherfucking stray cat to know what responsibility is."

"You mean that thing you keep running away from every time you can?" You make your tone as innocent and unassuming as possible as you reach back and rub a horn against his cheek. "Oh yes, I wouldn’t know about that."

"How’s your moirail?" He asks, instead, and you mentally assign yourself a point, because when you hit a nerve, Gamzee always lashes out by threatening your moirail, the fucking asshole.

It’s not like he could do anything to him, though. Not the way things are. But the truth is that it still makes you twitch, and he’s obnoxious enough to consider pissing you off a victory, no matter how small or petty.

"Quadranted to your moirail’s matesprit," you shoot back, then easily slide from under him to leap off the cliff, laughing. "But of course, your mirthless ass has no time for gossip."

He let’s out a confused, startled honk before he follows, but by then you’re already halfway through the base and intent on getting the price first. Hunting is fun, and will never not be fun for you. It’s not about helping your friends, though you do it gladly and without remorse, and it’s not about your prey, though you’ve developed quite a taste for it these days. It’s about who you really are and honoring your lusus last lesson. To relive the thrill of violence controlled and tamed into something useful.

Admittedly, though, there are baser pleasures in what you do, like the furious look on Gamzee’s face when you spill blood before he can, and the satisfaction in all that follows when you do.

This is what and who you are, at the core. This is why you put Equius above all your priorities, because you’re aware now, in a way you couldn’t have been when you were a kid, of what exactly you’d become without him. This is what Gamzee hates most about you, and the reason you keep coming back, for more taunting and biting and fucking in the shadows of the most sacred corners of his ship: He’s a murderer and you’re not, and so long as he can’t make you into one, you’ll always be on the prowl, one step ahead.


	29. Eridan and Karkat, freedom

 

* * *

 

"You’re not alive," Karkat says, voice steady and eyes narrowed. "You’re not even remotely off the hook, so shut your goddamn mouth and listen to me, because you’re not alive and if you let yourself think, even for a moment, that you are, you  _will_  die.”

You hiss at him, near blind as your eyes continue to try and adapt to the pleasant dimness all around you, after fuck knows how long enduring the unnatural brightness of your cell. You press your back against the wall, trying to pretend you’re sitting out of spite and not because your entire body feels frail and weakened.

"The Empress wants you gone," Karkat goes on, turning his back on you, and you wonder what you’d do, if you could actually stand up and reach out for him, claws first. Then he turns to you, glass in hand, and ignores the way you snarl as he presses the water to your parched lips. "You’ll never see her again. You’re going somewhere you might actually be useful."

"The merciful thing," you say, forcing yourself to stop drinking even if your body throbs with thirst, "would be to kill me."

Something crosses Karkat’s face, dark and unbecoming, but you’re too fucking bitter to care. You’ve drowned in it, body wasted away to nothing and sustained only by the spiteful promise of revenge. And then he pulls away, subtle but still tainted with disgust and you think you understand, what hatred feels like, what genocidal really  _means_.

"You’re so far past mercy it’s not even fucking funny," Karkat mutters, almost to himself. "I want you out of my hair and out of fucking trouble, Eridan. No more bullshit. You owe me this, shithead."

"I don’t—"

"It didn’t have to be this way," he says, strangely heartbroken, "but you made it this way. They’ll be here for you in five minutes, so I suggest you compose yourself."

It’s not until he’s gone, that you realize you’ve been crying all the while.


	30. Sollux and Eridan, make peace

  


* * *

  


CA: so  
CA: noww wwhat  
CA: this the part wwhere you threaten to kill me i think  
TA: the part where ii threaten two kiill you, ye2  
TA: iif thii2 were one of kk2 dumb moviie2, thii2 would be the tiitle 2creen  
TA: iin biig bomba2tiic font  
TA: the part where he threaten2 two kiill you  
TA: theyd probably make a 2ong and everythiing  
CA: ok  
CA: im ready i guess  
TA: eriidan  
CA: yeah  
TA: dont fuck thii2 up  
CA: ill try  
TA: good


	31. Eridan and Karkat, deal

 

* * *

 

"What are you doing?" You ask, still not used to the sight of Eridan sprawled awkwardly in a corner of your block, engrossed in his tablet.

"Trying to figure out how your ship works," he says, nibbling on one of the cheap dried meat snacks this ship’s galley stocks up for its students. He looks at you over the rim of his glasses, eyebrows arched. "Your ship is kind of weird, you know? And not at all what I was expecting to be assigned to, three days ago. I’ve got a fuckload of catch up to do."

You make your way to him, absently taking off your coat and not giving it a second thought to sit on the floor with him. He sits on the floor a lot, you think, or on desks, or anything but a chair. You suspect it might have something to do with him towering like a gangly lamppost over pretty much everyone around him, and chairs and desks and midblood things in general not made for someone his size. You don’t say anything, though, because it still aches to think about too hard and you don’t think you could handle talking about it, yet.

"What’s wrong with my ship?" You tilt your head to the side, and dutifully take a bite off his snack when he offers, basking in the way his entire expression softens as you do.

"Well," he pokes at his tablet, shrugging, and brings up an organigram of the Leviathan’s chain of command. "See this mess? You and your entourage complicate the entire thing. This is how it’s supposed to look," and then he brings a much simpler chart, with far less interlocking lines. "Usually, the only ship that carries a troll that actually outranks its Captain is the flagship, but you’re special."

You lean in to nuzzle the side of his face, grinning as his breath hitches and then purring quietly when he gathers you up into his lap.

"Damn right I’m special."


	32. Eridan, tell friend about new matesprit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References to[ _Friends Like These_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/860194) utterly intentional and unrepentant.**

  


* * *

  


caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling immiscibleAeon [IA]

CA: so   
CA: i did a thing   
IA: oh god.   
IA: am i gonna yell at you for it?   
CA: maybe?   
IA: hang on, i need to put the needlez away.   
CA: right   
CA: uh   
CA: i just   
CA: got myself a matesprit   
IA: what.   
IA: that'z great!   
IA: who iz it?   
IA: do i know them?   
CA: yeah   
IA: i do?   
CA: yeah   
IA: oh god, tell me it'z not ruzzel.   
CA: wwhat   
CA: no, wwhat the fuck, ag   
IA: what.   
IA: it'd be funny.   
CA: not really   
CA: itd be wweird as shit   
IA: yeah.   
IA: but funny too.   
CA: ag!   
IA: yeah, yeah, okay.   
IA: if it'z not ruzzel, who'z the lucky troll?   
CA: uh   
IA: the more you hezitate the more i ztart imagining terrible thingz, you realize.   
CA: yeah   
CA: are you sittin dowwn?   
IA: becauze that'z not ominouz or anything.   
IA: yez, i'm zitting down.   
IA: now zpit it out, prinzezz.   
CA: karkat vantas.   
IA: ...   
CA: yeah   
IA: ...it wouldn't happen, by any chanze, to be a caze of zame name but different troll, would it.   
CA: its definitely the troll youre thinkin   
IA: ...   
IA: that'z it.   
IA: i need to go knit myzelf a zweater now.   
CA: ag?   
IA: a zweater for each day of the fucking week.   
CA: are you mad?

immiscibleAeon [IA] is now an idle troll!

immiscibleAeon [IA] is now no longer idle!

CA: ag?   
CA: are you okay?   
IA: no.   
CA: ah   
IA: but i waz already worried about you anyway.   
IA: zo what'z a little more worry to add to the mix.   
CA: hey!   
IA: the high chancellor of alternia and itz fucking fleet, eridan.   
CA: i knoww   
IA: do i even want to know how that happened?   
CA: not really   
CA: its a long story   
IA: hm.   
CA: ag?   
IA: fine.   
IA: okay.   
CA: is it   
IA: not by a long zhot, no.   
IA: but do let me know if he hurtz you.   
CA: ...why   
IA: becauze i want to know when i have a legit reazon to turn traitor to the empire.   
CA: agness!   
IA: oh zhut up, i get to threaten your quadrantz az much az you get to threaten mine.   
IA: if, you know, i ever get any.   
IA: anyway, juzt becauze he'z the mozt powerful troll in the galaxy doezn't mean i'm giving up the privilege.   
CA: i lovve you   
CA: like a lot   
CA: havve i evver told you that?   
IA: onze or twize.   
IA: but i'm not gonna complain if you dezide to make it a habit of reminding me.   
CA: hes not goin to hurt me   
IA: he better not.   
IA: we'll have wordz if he doez!   
IA: i'll walk up to him and zay.   
IA: hey you, halfpint brat, that'z my bezt friend you're romanzing here.   
IA: treat him right or i'll ztab you in the eye!   
CA: wwould you really?   
IA: probably not, on account of the fact i'd probably be zhitting myzelf in hiz prezenze.   
IA: but i can pretend.   
CA: heh   
IA: gotta go, obnoxiouz moronz to deal with.   
IA: don't forget to keep me updated.   
CA: wwill do   
IA: and prinzezz?   
CA: yeah?   
IA: i'm not telling ruzzel for you.   
CA: oh   
CA: damn   
IA: good luck with that.   
CA: sob

immiscibleAeon [IA] ceased trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]


	33. Saanvi, enjoy being you

 

* * *

 

You swallow back the purr as Harper’s claws dance all over your skull, working up a lather before she spreads it down the length of your hair. Nonetheless, your eyes slide half mast against your will as she continues her relentless assault to make you relax.

"We should go to Gau sector next," she says, winding up your hair into a loose bun atop your head.

"And why’s that?" You tilt your head forward as her hands trail down your neck, slowly scrubbing their way down your back.

"It’ll be harvest season soon." You shiver slowly as she leans in to press the words to the corner of your jaw. "I can ask Admin Chelsy to stock up on good wine and good fruit for a change."

"Wine," you snort, shaking your head and then reaching out to wrap an arm around her waist. She giggles when you drag her off the side of the bathtub into your lap, pliant under your grip. "Always with your wine."

"Not worse than you and your tea," she teases, shifting until she’s straddling one of your thighs and her arms are wrapped around your shoulders. "It’d be nice," she adds, tugging you until your nose is buried between her breasts.

"I’ll think about it," you smirk, sliding a hand down her back and pressing her down until your bulge is teasing the rim of her nook and she’s gasping softly against the bend in your left horn. "Wouldn’t want to spoil you too much, now would I?"

But all that answers you is the sound of water lapping all around you.


	34. Karkat, deal with your matesprit's new kismesis

 

* * *

 

"So here’s the thing," you say, calmly, smiling thinly and relishing in the way Equius’ entire frame seems to be vibrating in place. "My matesprit happens to be a grown up troll, despite the fact that he sometimes chooses not to act like one," you tilt your head to the side, narrowing your eyes until Equius flinches and looks away. "But you  _lied_  to me.”

"I—"

"Shut up," you keep your tone cordial, leaning back on your chair and resting your hands on the armrests, "you  _lied_  to me, Zahhak. And as a result, you allowed Sollux to manipulate me, which is bad enough even if it’s his fucking job, but also the  _Helmsman_.” You bare your teeth at him, until he’s cowering into his chair. “Do you understand what kind of power he can wield?”

"Well—"

"My matesprit, for all his faults, which I don’t doubt you’d gladly make a list of, is the one troll standing between all us poor fuckers and an Omega class psionic with a fucking ginormous grudge against the Empress, the Empire and all trolls in general. I’d forgive you for lying to me, Zahhak, if you had a good reason. I won’t forgive you for lying about the wellbeing of my matesprit, both as a friend,  _and_  as your chancellor.” Equius whimpers very quietly, chastised like a small child. “What happens between you two is your business and I’m not the kind of jerk who tries to meddle in a quadrantmate’s other quadrants. But the moment your stupidity puts at risk the Empire, Zahhak, you make it my goddamn business.”

"I’m sorry," he says, hoarse. "I did not think—"

"No, you sweaty mountain of inbred stupid, you didn’t fucking think. So do me and the rest of trollkind a favor and do endeavor to think in the future. We could have  _died_ , Equius.”


	35. Russel, deal with stupid best friend

 

* * *

 

"What. Did. You.  _Do_.”

You whine, unrepentant, as Russel twists his wrist and forces you to tilt your head to the side to try and alleviate the pressure on your horn. Your skull burns from it, your spine protesting the awkward angle you’ve been forced into, as he snarls darkly into your face.

"Nothing!" You squeak, indignant but cautious, utterly limp in his hold. "I swear to god, Rus, I was just sleeping when he burst in and started talking shit."

"My Captain," he says, slow and measured, and the corner of your pan that’s in charge of self-preservation - and thus rarely if ever bothers to work - quivers piteously because you know for a fact that if you’ve pissed off Russel Zephyr, you’re in for a world of  _pain_. Not the nice kind, either. “Is not the sort to start fights without reason.”

"Your Captain hates my guts, though," you offer him a small, sheepish smile, and wince when he tugs harder on your horn. You wonder if he’s going to tear it off. "Honest, he was talking shit and I lost my temper, I—"

"He’ll break your spine, Eridan," Russel growls, finally relenting his hold and letting you slump into an awkward pile of limbs at his feet, "if  _he_ loses his.”

You wince, collecting your limbs enough to sit at his feet, head bowed. The last thing you wanted to do was worry him, and you regret lashing out at Zahhak purely because of how Russel reacted.

"I’m sorry," you croak softly, looking up at him from under your eyelashes, certain you won’t be out of the hook that easily.

"Oh, you’ll  _be_ , Fins,” he says, grimly resolute, and the way he glares at you leaves you a shivering wreck. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Go back to sleep, I have work to do.”

"Rus—"

"Later, Eridan," he points an imperious claw to the recuperacoon, and you find yourself obeying without a second thought. "We’ll  _talk_  later.”


	36. Eridan, tell other friend about new matesprit

**Eridan telling Russel about his new matesprit.**

  


* * *

  


caligulasAquarium [CA] began trolling hyacinthusAnemoi [HA]

CA: rus   
CA: hey, rus   
HA: hEllo   
CA: i did a thing   
CA: an ivve been meanin to tell you   
HA: oH gOd   
CA: seriously?   
CA: seriously   
CA: ag said the same thing   
HA: tHat's bEcause aGness iS a sMart tRoll   
CA: rude   
HA: bUt tRue   
CA: do you wwant to knoww or not   
HA: sHoot   
HA: wHat dId yOu dO?   
CA: i got a matesprit   
HA: oOoh   
HA: gOod jOb   
HA: tHat wAs qUick   
CA: hush you   
CA: its complicated   
HA: wHat aBout yOu iSn't cOmplicated?   
CA: exactly   
CA: anywway   
CA: thats not really the thing   
HA: oH gOd   
CA: wwill you stop sayin that   
CA: i mean   
CA: its the thing   
CA: but the thing is wwho my matesprit is   
HA: pLease tEll mE iT's nOt aGness   
CA: wwhat   
CA: no   
CA: wwhat the fuck   
HA: jUst rUling oUt tHe wOrst pOssibilities   
CA: haha hilarious   
HA: i kNow, iT's a tAlent   
CA: chancellor vantas, smartass   
CA: if you really wwant to knoww   
HA: wHat   
CA: yeah   
HA: nO, rEally   
HA: wHat   
CA: need a moment   
CA: ag did   
HA: wHat i nEed iS aN eXtra pAir oF hAnds   
HA: bEcause fAcepalm x2 cOmbo iS nOt eNough rIght nOw   
CA: rude   
HA: bUt sTill tRue   
HA: oN tHe uPside   
HA: iF wE eVer nEed tO rUn aWay aNd lIve iN eXile   
HA: aT lEast i kNow wE hAve a cHance oF sUrviving   
CA: wwhy are you an ag so sure im goin to fuck this up   
HA: oH, eRidan   
HA: nO   
HA: yOu're nOt tHe oNe wHo'll fUck tHis uP   
HA: bUt iF tHe cHancellor dOes   
HA: iT's gOod fOr yOu tO rEmember tHat i kNow hOw tO hIde tHe bOdy   
CA: jerk   
HA: aNd yOu lOve me   
HA: sO tHere


	37. Sollux, fear for your life

**Sollux hiding with Eridan, to avoid Terezi.**

 

* * *

 

"Why are you hiding from your moirail?" You blurt out, blinking. Sollux gives you a look that dismisses your already dubious mental prowess in one go. You wince. “Okay, fair enough, but why are you hiding from your moirail  _here_?”

"Because I’m pretty sure this is the last place she’ll come looking for me, and I’m hoping she’ll eventually give up and just corner a security camera and yell at it instead."

"Isn’t that—"

"The same thing? Theoretically, yes, but if she ends up biting the security camera at least  _that_  won’t bleed, possibly to death.” It’s your turn to stare. “…it’s  _complicated_.”


	38. Dualscar, be miserable

 

* * *

 

"I’d say I told you so, because I did in fact tell you so, repeatedly and with great insistence," you say, pressing Dualscar’s head forward to keep him in place with one hand, as you sit somewhat comfortably on his hips, “but then you’d tell me to—"

"Shut the fuck  _up_ , Imoogi.”

"Quite so," you smirk, watching the other hiss and twitch beneath you as you continue the tedious, lengthy and often painful process of plucking parasites off his gills with your claws. “And then I’d have to bring up the fact  _you sunk my fucking ship_ , Ampora, and things would just get nasti _er_.”


	39. Karkat, mystify subjugglators

 

* * *

 

The High Chancellor of the Alternian Empire and Its Fleet does  **not** belong aboard the  _Messiah_ , simply because he represents pretty much every major blasphemy against the cult of the Mirthful Messiahs that most subjugglators belong to, from his hideously mutated blood to his outrageous policies enforced Empire-wide, and thus whenever he announces a visit, the entire crew of the ship is forced to scramble about to make things fit somewhat the stupid heathen standards of the rest of the fleet.

The High Chancellor of the Alternian Empire and Its Fleet is also the Grand Highblood’s serendipity given moirail, though, and the ridiculousness of such fate has already been immortalized in numerous hymns to the Messiahs’ whimsical sense of humor.

It’s always quiet when he’s around, clowns pretending to be mimes, shifting with the unease that he doesn’t belong there, and yet, for whatever reason, he  _does_.


	40. Eridan, piss Sollux off

 

* * *

 

You wake up sore and tired, which isn’t necessarily a novel state of affairs, as far as your life goes, but then you realize there’s entirely too many limbs in the coon with you, and that the only reason you’re awake in the first place is the persistent chirping of your tablet, lost somewhere in your sylladex.

ii 2ee what your poliiciie2 regardiing three2ome2 really mean, a22hole

"Oh,  _fuck_.”


	41. Condesce, heiresses

 

* * *

 

She has your matesprit’s horns.

That’s the first thing you really notice, as she gathers her bearings and stumbles through the words of the formal challenge, which she’s practiced to death, no doubt.

She has your matesprit’s horns, but you kill her all the same, like the previous one, who had your kismesis’ smile, or the one before that, who inherited your eyes; they’re your children, all of them, yours and those you’ve deigned to love and hate through out the centuries, coming back to haunt you like the ghosts of broken vows, but you kill them all the same, each and every one of them, and tell yourself you don’t care.


	42. Condesce and Psii, final hours

 

* * *

 

The last few hours, before you reach Alternia, she sits in your helmsblock, quiet, just listening to you breathe, so you bask in the silence and refuse to give her a reason to speak.

"It’ll be the last one," she says, as you maneuver the atmosphere and she pets the biowires grafted into your skin, “I can feel it, this is the one."

You think of a thousand things you could say - I don’t hate you, I’m sorry, why are you even doing this? - but all that comes out of your mouth, tired and wasted, is “good.”


	43. Agness, unexpected promotion

 

* * *

 

It’s a really stupid idea, which you suppose you should have expected considering where it came from.

You don’t want to leave, not really; Nova Pyxis is your home now and you have a place here and you know how things work here. But you don’t want to stay either, and you’re angry and upset, and you want to hate Eridan for offering and you love the stupid fool for knowing you need him to offer, that you’d never willingly take a step in either direction on your own.


	44. Nepeta and Gamzee, national secret

 

* * *

 

Your brethren brag their ability to smell fear, and that’s why she can roam the hallowed halls of your ship without anyone ever noticing, because you don’t think she’s ever  _known_  fear.

She lurks and stalks and that fearlessness is what makes you hate her and what stops you from just breaking her neck and calling it a day - and Karkat would be sad, sadder than you’re willing to accept at any given time - so you sit on your throne, like your Ancestor did, and bide your time until the shadows grow claws and threaten to claim their pound of flesh and blood and bone.

You adjust you tattoos around the scars she gives you, and your subjugglators whisper that you’ve found yourself a lover made of nothingness itself; you let them whisper what they want, because they haven’t learned to catch the scent of fearlessness spreading through the ship like miasma, and until they do, they’re not worthy of even knowing her name.


	45. Eridan, friendship

 

* * *

 

You grew up in the remnants of a ship, with the surf for a playmate and the stars as secret-keepers. You grew up reading about how noble and special your blood made you, and met a Princess from the depths who was even nobler and more special than you.

But you never knew what it was like, to fit in instead of standing out, to mingle instead of trying to lead, and the more your attempts fall flat, the more you convince yourself friendship is a lowblood, vulgar thing not meant for someone of your rank; it doesn’t make you any less lonely, really, but you’re good at pretending otherwise.


	46. Agness, troll pincushion

 

* * *

 

You’re all of three sweeps when you watch a movie with a pretty yellowblood that fights for justice with long, thin needles and myriad of amazing acrobatic moves; you’re in love.

The very next night you order a blank specibus card and several dozen needles, and over the sweeps you become progressively more likely to hit a target than end up pinching yourself; the amazing acrobatics never really become a thing, though, and by the time you can bring down a troll with six well placed needles, you’ve forgotten the title of the movie that got you started in the first place.

But you have your scars, faded and nearly erased by your adult molt, and every now and then, you smile to yourself and imagine what a sight it must have been, a three sweep old disaster like yourself, looking more like a hedgehog than a troll.


	47. Dirk, oh shit, kids au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of an AU. Fuck yeah, AUception!

 

* * *

 

You spend three nights and their days, pacing around your hive and fretting nervously, not daring to touch your husktop or even look at it for long, because you’re certain you’ve gone and gotten yourself culled; they dared you to try and hack into the imperial network and you did, because you’re  _you_ , what they didn’t tell you - what you suspect no one knows - is that ** _the imperial network is_** ** _alive_** ** _and sentient_** , and your attempts -  _success_ , really, for less than a fraction of a picosecond anyway - to hack it were nullified without a second thought.

2up

The trollian window says, and no matter how many times you close the program, or uninstall it, or reboot your gig, or flat out do a clean OS insall, it remains there, taunting you.

Eventually, tired and worn and frustrated from waiting for drones or adults or something that never comes, you sit in your desk again, and stiltedly reply:

hello 


	48. Sollux, be amused, kids au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of an AU. Fuck yeah, AUception!

 

* * *

 

Kids ‘hack’ into you every other day, because there’s always a smartass who thinks they know a thing or two about computers, and sometimes you let them think they succeed if only for the sake of keeping the charade going, but that yellowblood in particular struck a cord in you. His code was neat and precise, without useless redundancies that most kids don’t learn to do away with until they’ve mastered the language entirely, or created a few themselves, and the process itself was elegant.

You have half a mind to cull him - literally - but then you watch him freak out and that’s just about the cutest thing ever; you want him on your team, the neurotic little shithead.


	49. Dirk, meet the 2up guy, kids au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of an AU. Fuck yeah, AUception!

 

* * *

 

"You seem surprised," you say, sitting back on the chair and folding one leg over the other, getting comfortable.

"A little," the younger troll admits, resisting the urge to squirm and valiantly ignoring the fact his feet don’t touch the ground, “was kinda expecting a thinkpan in a jar or a skull wired into a motherboard or… you know, body horror parade, I didn’t expect you to be the  _wireless model_.”

"I’m not wireless," you admit, chuckling, “per se, I just imagined you’d be more comfortable this way, lisp and all. Good way to remind you you’re dealing with another troll, not just a line of code you can try to dominate."

"I’m sorry," he says, wincing. “About that."

"No, you’re not," you grin at him with all your teeth, “you’re just sorry you didn’t  _know_.”


	50. Jake, fuck shit up, kids au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of an AU. Fuck yeah, AUception!

 

* * *

 

He would be dead already, really, but the Mother Grub likes him.

He’s done everything possible that is to get culled - step on grubs, break eggs, trip drones, spill pails, mess up meals - but still, the Mother Grub likes him, and when his shifts are over, he’s always found in the great chamber that houses the upper side of her body, sitting on the floor and telling her the most ridiculous stories.

He would be dead already, but he’s the one jadeblood that ever thought to actually  _talk_  to her, and for now, that is enough.


	51. Rose, be awesome, kids au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of an AU. Fuck yeah, AUception!

 

* * *

 

Most violetbloods aspire to lord over large fleets, like the great ten Admirals the Condesce favored above all others, or to earn themselves a permanent spot among the Empress’ court and play the ridiculously petty games that flourish there.

You asked for a space station, as far away from Alternia as it was possible, in the most savage, ruthless corner of the Fringe. To the explorers and the conquerors, it serves like an oasis of civilization before they head deeper into the unknown, but to you it is a temple to knowledge and research, one that’s well worth the effort and the complications involved in building it, when you receive your first visit from Beyond the Veil.


	52. Rose and Kanaya, meet, kids au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of an AU. Fuck yeah, AUception!

 

* * *

 

She’s not what you’re expecting, though admittedly, you don’t know what you were expecting. She’s shorter than you, pleasantly plump, with an elegant nose and a razor sharp smirk.

"My Lady Maryam," the seadweller says, uniform covered in a pristine labcoat that hides all the insignias and ranks, as if that could make them disappear, “or perhaps, do you prefer Jade Lady? Either way, this is a first for me, in many ways, I hope you don’t mind if I approach our acquaintance the same way I do my work,  _thoroughly_.”


	53. Psii and Garfit, this ain't troll kansas anymore, what-if au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of an AU. Fuck yeah, AUception!

 

* * *

 

"I hope you’re happy now," the seadweller grouses darkly, scowling furiously, " _you broke physics_.”

You take a moment to contemplate the glorious hole your combined powers tore in reality itself, and all the colors and shapes that can be seen through it, before shrugging and smacking him with your cane, just because.

"You started it."


	54. Russel and Karkat, jobswap au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of an AU. Fuck yeah, AUception!

 

* * *

 

You hate the Chancellor a little.

Nothing personal, really, he’s an obscenely chill guy - that’s kinda why you hate him a little (but just a little), because he’s always so fucking chill about every single fucking thing that happens and yet somehow he still manages to salvage pretty much everything - and it’s a little disconcerting for someone like you - with your temper and your habit to screech and lose your shit over every little thing - to see a guy like him appointed in the wake of the Condescension’s defeat (though you suppose it makes sense, what with the new Empress wanting to bring change everywhere).

It’s not even that he’s not good at his job - he is - it’s just that he’s always so fucking placid, you can’t help but wonder what’ll happen the day he gets pissed (and you’d very much rather not find out).


	55. Sollux, mess with karkat

 

* * *

 

Karkat  _thinks_  he’s as good with words as you’re with code, and when you’re bored and the sun is glaring viciously through the threadbare curtains of your hive, your pan writhing with ideas that feel like maggots festering on a carcass, you reread the logs of your conversations and mess with Karkat because you know you’d never really hurt him more than he hurts himself - which is, admittedly, an impressive amount - and the alternative is concoct something suicidal and self-destructive like sabotaging the imperial network just because.

So your fingers dance across the keyboard in tune with the voices cramming themselves in your skull, and you build up a masterpiece for the sake of tearing it down and starting again; it must be vicious and frustrating and jaw-droppingly amazing to the point he can’t help but congratulate you for a job well done.

You type on and on, while the dead scream themselves hoarse behind your ears and your skull thumps in time with a song you’ve never learned the lyrics to; you type and code and the only reason you slide back into your recuperacoon instead of flinging your body off a window for the sake of hearing what sound it makes when it splatters on the ground, is that you need to be alive to read the walls of profanity in ambiguous grey tomorrow.


	56. Eridan, meet the moirail

 

* * *

 

"Now, look here, motherfucker," and then you’re sailing up the air until you’re plopped unceremoniously on Gamzee’s knee, and holy fucking shit, you’re so not ready for this, you’re going to kneel over and die, just to be done with it, “it’s real fucking simple, okay? Small words, none of that mirthless political shit all the other brothers and sisters are eating by the fistful all the time, you and I, we  _understand_  each other, don’t we?” No you don’t, not really, you don’t think anyone really understands Gamzee, but you nod anyway, because you’re going to  _die_. “You ain’t making my soulbro hurt and I ain’t breaking your spine. It’s _easy_. Yeah?”

"Yeah!" You squeak, flailing to yourself, “sure!"

"There’s a good fishbro," he says, grinning, and he looks fucking terrifying, the way the paint scrunches up in his face and makes him look like some kind of monster. He pats your back, hard enough you think he might actually break your spine after all, and honks a laugh that leaves you shuddering. “Now tell me a bitchtits joke, dog, to commemorate the occasion."

You have the sinking feeling you know how this ends.


	57. Russel, weird shit

 

* * *

 

"So let me get this straight, you," you point a claw straight at Zahhak’s nose, “want me," there goes the claw to your chest, “to deliver Helmsman Freydn an invitation to dinner."

"Yes."

"…right."


	58. Equius, be smitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As pointed out by anon back in tumblr, this is a loving, tongue-in-cheek nod to _[One of Our Submarines](http://archiveofourown.org/works/341204/chapters/552441)_ , which you should totally be reading already, if you haven't.

 

* * *

 

"Did you know they haven’t made any progress at all in crossbreeding different strands of biowiring to unify the entire systems and make them more cost and energy efficient because so long ago we’ve lost count, some stupid highblood prick wrote a paper about us evil helmsmen having a .0000000000000001% chance of taking enough control of the system to hijack the ship or form some kind of shadowy conclave in the deep recesses of our connected minds that would threaten the stability of the Empire?"

"Well, I do now."

"These idiots have never been inside a helmsblock, have they?"

"It’s not a particularly popular tourist location for higbloods, no."

"I spent three hours calibrating my pit, today, I could have done that in five minutes, but noooooo, let’s all live in fear of the helmsman militia mafia."

"…I’m not entirely sure how a militia could also be a mafia."

"Well, I’m not entirely sure how a helmsman could take control of a ship without, you know,  _actually becoming a ship_. But there you have it.”


	59. Sollux and Feferi, the necessary evils of helming.

 

* * *

 

"You can’t get rid of it, FF," you reach out to hold her hands in yours, fingers entwined and lean in so you can press your forehead against her. “There’s thirty eight million sectors in the Empire, give or take a few, and each of them has at least one fully functional space station in them, not to mention the four hundred million ships and their crews. There’s nowhere for them to  _go_ , and even if you could secure a home for each and everyone of them, with resources and jobs and a stable economy that can sustain them in a sedentary life, you would still need to travel between planets to keep any sort of unity. It’s horrible and I hate it, you _know_  I hate it, but it would destroy the Empire and punish  _billions of innocents_. It’s not worth it.”

"It’s—"

“ _It’s not worth it._ ”


	60. Eridan, Harper and Saanvii, run this ship

 

* * *

 

"Give me some goddamn good news, Harper," Saanvi says, leaning back against her chair, absently drumming her claws on the armrests, “since Ampora here is deadset on giving me a fucking ulcer."

"Tell your fucking captains to not be fucking stupid in the heat of battle and we’ll both be ulcer free in the foreseeable future," you mutter, as Harper taps on her keyboard and brings up the map of the region in the main display, a bright red line tracing the current route.

"The good news is that we’ll hit a space station in six shifts, and they’re ready to receive us. The bad news is that the star on the sector between us and the  _Medusa_  has been behaving erratically and there’s a high probability of electromagnetic storms and increased stardust clouds to make things even more interesting.  _And_  the  _Medusa_  just reported an unexpected acceleration in the asteroid field so we will need to reinforce the hull and inspect the filters when we reach the station, which will probably take us a couple shifts longer than anticipated and of course will give the storms time to get worse. But waiting the storm at the station is not an option, considering they don’t have enough supplies and we would make the Chancellor miss his appointment.”

"God save us all if we make Lord Vantas miss an appointment," you say, chuckling wryly.

"You have a funny definition of  _good news_ , Harper,” Saanvi says, rubbing her face with one hand. “Ampora, get your people working for a change, I don’t want to see any of your goddamn runts picking at their nooks. Harper, recalibrate the route to try and avoid the worst of the storms, we’ll use full Helmsmen power to try and get through it as soon as possible. And not a word to Vantas about this,” she says, giving you a pointed glare, “I don’t need the neurotic little shithead trying to tell me how to run my ship.”


	61. Molloy, be deliriously excited

 

* * *

 

You always look forward to the challenges, as far as your job goes, the ones that are more than a quadrantmate’s sign or a stupid quote some kid doesn’t even really understand or a ship’s logo. You fancy yourself an artist, but the truth is that you don’t always  _get_  a chance to be one, in this line of work. But every once in a while…

"All of them?" You ask, not quite able to hide your excitement as you circle the troll standing on the platform, studying the gnarled scars that sprawl in knots over every inch of skin. You don’t ask what they’re from, because it’s none of your business and it doesn’t matter, but you can guess. He nods. “Do you have any specifics about this?"

He must, but for a piece this big, you dearly hope it’s not something stupid.

"Vines," he says, voice low and raspy and torn, “someone suggested vines."

Behind your eyes, your imagination lights up with a myriad of possibilities, because yes, vines would work perfectly with the shape and density of those scars.

"Vines are good," you say, smile a little dreamy, “I can work with vines."


	62. Nepeta, show your true colors

 

* * *

 

"Feferi."

You have your culling fork in hand before you recognize the voice, and as you turn abruptly, you find Nepeta crouching in the shadows by the wall, eyes wide and expression… cautious. You swallow hard and lower your weapon, just a little.

"Where have you  _been_?” You demand, giving a step forward but stopping when she flinches and presses herself further into the all. “Equius has been besides himself with worry, Nepeta, we thought you were  _dead_.”

"Hunting," she says after a moment, finally standing up and ejecting the contents of her sylladex on the floor. You swallow hard as you recognize the mangled corpses for the missing trolls. “Heard them talking," Nepeta explains, hands inside the pockets of her jacket, slouching a little, “saying nasty things about you and Karkit—Karkat, it didn’t seem right, so I followed. When they noticed, they tried to hurt me and then ran." She pauses, almost ominously. “They didn’t run fast enough."


	63. Karkat, hate the peacock

 

* * *

 

Something inside you  _throbs_ , watching Imoogi and Eridan walk the long bridges around the tank, something dark and angry and bitter that you refuse to own up to, but that doesn’t stop existing simply because you ignore it. You grind your teeth, when Imoogi corrects Eridan’s posture or chastises his love of profanity with a look or a light touch, and you grind them harder when Eridan listens and learns.

This is his world, the world he would have had, if he hadn’t thrown it away in a fit of idiocy so long ago, but the truth is that you know Eridan as he is now - proud and grown and almost mature most days - would flourish in this world, wouldn’t cause a disaster anymore. This is his world, his birthright, and you don’t know how you’ll deny it to him without feeling selfish and cruel, when he asks you for it. So you sit back and grind your teeth and clench your fists and hope against all hope that he never asks.


	64. Russel, entertain the captain's moirail

 

* * *

 

"But you’re red for them?"

"Sometimes," you say, and endeavor to ignore the way she’s sprawled on your desk, absently poking at one of those ridiculous swinging ball anti-stress toy things that Tallie gave you for your wriggling day a two sweeps ago. “It’s mostly ashen, really, they’re always on the verge of doing something stupid and I gotta stand in and keep them from actually getting themselves killed."

"And they let you," she muses, rolling on your papers and utterly ruining half of them, no doubt, so she can fold her arms behind her back and squint at the ceiling, “because they’re ashen for you when they’re black for each other but red for each other when they’re red for you?" You nod. “That’s  _fascinating_ , Purr-ssel.”

"I know," you say, and pretend real hard you didn’t hear her mangling your name. “Believe me, I know."


	65. Karkat, die of embarrassment

 

* * *

 

"Kar. Kar,  _please_ ,” you say, in a conciliatory tone that borders on pale, fingering his hair and cuddling him under the arch of your arm, “let Admin Jugula walk you there, he knows who he can trust to have them look at you without gossiping and he’ll keep you out of people’s sight at all times.” You look up to find the burly tealblood nodding emphatically, expression a mix of compassionate and flustered. “You need to go to the medbay, Kar.”

"But," and he whines, bless his precious, goddamn soul, “I don’t  _want_ to.”

"Well, I don’t want you to, either, but I’d rather you embarrassed than hurt, and you will get hurt, if they don’t take it out soon enough," you try to keep your voice soothing and mentally double Jugula’s fucking salary because he managed to keep a straight face at that. “And," you add, trying your very best to be supportive, despite the fact you know you’re being grossly manipulative, “better an embarrassment than a national situation."

Eventually, chastised and utterly mortified, Karkat allows Jugula to take him away, while you go and do your best to cause a distraction so big no one notices the Chancellor dropping by the medbay to have an errant vibrator fished out of his goddamn  _nook_.


	66. Nepeta, if you could you would

 

* * *

 

Gamzee corners you into the wall, hand nearly as big as your chest sliding roughly under your shirt until you can hear the seams snapping one by one.

"You look and look and mother fucking  _look_ ,” he says, dark and amused right into your ear and you reach back to dig your claws into his face, knowing damn well he won’t care, will enjoy it if you leave scars, because he’ll just put paint over them and no one will know about them but you two, like a lover’s pact except less romantic and more  _infuriating_. “But even if the motherfucking selfrighteous kitty got into herself to not be such a fucking pussy, a sister won’t find herself a miraculous piece of mirth like Karkat in her quadrants. But it doesn’t mother fucking matter, does it?” And you feel his blood, thick and rich and cold, sliding between your fingers, because he’s caught you this time, and he’s going to play with you this time, until he gets bored or you run away or either of you dies, and that’s why his hand is now pressing at the seams of your pants. “You wouldn’t fucking  _dare_.”

You want to yowl and snarl and skin him alive and cut off his tongue and wear it around your neck like a trophy for all eternity, but there’s a hall full of people across the wall, and it’ll all go to hell, if they find you now, with Gamzee fucking Makara tongue deep inside your nook and all your clothes reduced to rags. Equius would never forgive you.


	67. Darkleer, comfort your guest

**Darkleer meeting Pryxus, his favorite Handmaid.**

  


* * *

  


You take a moment to take in the scene, wondering what exactly you should do about, before reaching down to try and pull the bawling woman off the floor. Somehow, your attempts to stop her uncouth behavior land you in the most awkward hug you’ve ever been subjected to, hands twitching at air as the new Handmaid clings to your shoulders with a tenacity that belies her size. 

“It’s not _fair_ ,” she sobs, straight into your ear, miserable beyond words. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way at all.” 

After another moment of silence, you allow your arms to close around her and she melts further into your hold, her hot tears sliding down your neck. 

“I know,” you say, finally, long after she’s quieted down and you’ve spent nearly an hour sitting there, with her body cradled in yours, because all you can offer is the truth. 

It’s never fair and it never goes the way it’s supposed to, but with any luck, she’ll learn her lesson soon enough. 


	68. Garfit, serve your empress

**Garfit, after word of the Grand Highblood's dead reaches him**

  


* * *

  


“Was it wise?” Your oldest descendant gives you an anxious look, but knows better than to offer to serve your wine. “He was the Imperial Moirail.” 

“He was an insane, feral, demented fanatic, Cadmus,” you take a sip of your drink, smiling in grim satisfaction, “the Empress will be better off without him.” 

“But the Inquisitor—“ 

“Lord Taniwa is dead,” you snap, arching an eyebrow at him, “and now I am Lord, like he was after the one before him died.” You reach a hand to brush hair off his brow, and the boy relaxes into the gesture, gratefully drinking up your kindness. He’s your blood, he has nothing to fear from you, and everything to learn. “And like you will be, after I am gone. The Subjugglators will appoint a new Grand Highblood and the Empress will mourn and move on, and once we’ve cleaned up the aftermath of this ridiculous rebellion, everything will be as it should be.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, frowning as you take your hand off his hair and drink some more. You don’t offer him a cup, yet, because he hasn’t earned that privilege. Yet. You have great hopes for this boy, blood of your blood, scarcely six hundred sweeps old and already devoted to the throne with all his soul. 

“Are the rumors true?” He asks, eventually, wrapping his arms around himself defensively in a gesture you have not yet managed to train him out of. It makes him look young, younger than he is, and betrays weakness none of you can afford. “That she’s ordered all adults to be exiled from Alternia?” 

“The Empress is grieving,” you say pragmatically, finishing your wine and putting the cup back on the table. “She just lost her moirail to the rebellion, after all,” you smile wanly, despite yourself, as you study the large tapestry hanging off your wall, with your sign and the name of all those worthy enough to carry it through the ages embroidered on the fabric. “Perhaps she will change her mind. Perhaps she will not. That does not matter to us, does it?” 

“No,” Cadmus smiles at you, at peace with his duty and his place in the world. “I suppose not.” 

“We are the dragon, my boy,” you reach a hand to squeeze his shoulder encouragingly. “And the throne will always sit in the dragon’s jaws.” 


	69. Equius, fuck shit up royally

**Equius offers to ask Feferi to lengthen his matesprit's life.**

  


* * *

  


“No,” she says, tone sharp and expression closed off. 

“But, Ximena—“ 

“ _No_ , Equius,” she snaps, eyes all but glowing gold as she bares her teeth at you, and though she is a couple feet shorter than you are, you find yourself giving a step back and wincing. “I’m not a highblood. I’m not _meant_ to live as long as a highblood.” Her eyes narrow and you flinch on reflex, miserable. “Your matesprit is a lowblood, Captain Zahhak, and you will understand and accept it, or you will find yourself a new matesprit that suits you better.” 

“Forgive me,” you beg, desperate enough not to care you’re begging, in the wake of the way her words hurt. “Forgive me, I did not mean—“ 

“You never do,” she interrupts, and you hate yourself, more than you’ve ever hated anything in the world, because there’s tears in her eyes now. “You never mean any of the insulting, classist bullshit that you say, _but you keep saying it anyway_. I _am_ a lowblood, Equius.” You make a strangled sound when she rakes her claws down the inside of her arm, raising welts that bleed yellow. But before you can give a step forward, before you can reach out and clean the wound and chastise her for being reckless and imprudent and so very perfect, she goes on, and you end up rooted on the spot, taking in her words. “I _am_ a Helmsman, I’m a fucking _good_ Helmsman. I love who I am and what I do, and I love you, but every time you do something like this I keep wondering if you love me or just some strange highblood _ideal_ of what I could be. I’m not a _thing_ , dammit, that you can critique and modify to suit your tastes. I’m a fucking _person_ , and you will love me like a person, as a whole, or you’ll leave me the hell alone.” You watch, helpless, as she turns to leave, “good evening, Captain Zahhak.” 

“Good evening, Helmsman Freydn,” you whisper hoarsely to the empty block, feeling raw like someone hollowed out your body and replaced your blood with acid. 

You have a lot of thinking to do, before you even consider talking to Nepeta about this. 


	70. Psii and Aideen, the ghosts of the condesce

**Psii seeks out Aideen again, long after he left the _Dream Chaser_.**

  


* * *

  


“Admin Wukong...” You pause long enough to locate the source of the words, arching an eyebrow in surprise. “Aideen.” The Helmsman smiles up at you, tired and serene. You walk up to him, still cradling your tablet in your arms. 

“You talk now,” you say, amused, head tilted slightly to the side. He nods with a soft, raspy laugh. “That’s new.” 

“Things have changed,” he shrugs delicately, hesitant. You think it’s cute, not to mention a far cry from the closed off, emotionless way he used to carry himself, when he still lived in your ship. Or Before. But dwelling on Before is something you’re not prepared to indulge unless there’s a considerable amount of alcohol in your veins. Instead, you nod at him, encouraging. “It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances, to thank you.” 

“Hardly any need for that, now. You’re not my responsibility anymore.” You snort, shaking your head. You understand each other, the Helmsman and you. How could you not, having known each other Before? Nonetheless, you lean in to whisper in his ear, low enough his descendant will not hear. “But if you want the honest truth, you’ll always be _my_ favorite ship.” 

You get a cane to the leg for your efforts, but the blow is tame and almost affectionate. Equal parts reckless and terrified, you grin at him, eyes laughing at a joke no one else in the entire universe is privy to. 

“Go serve your Empress,” he mutters, darkly amused. 

You give him one last smile before you shrug and start walking away. 

“Someone ought to!” You call out, just before disappearing down the corridor. 

You can’t help but feel the last ghost of the Condescension has been put to rest. Perhaps now, you too will be granted a measure of respite as well. It’d be nice, after all this time, to be finally at peace. You tell no one of your thoughts and ignore Captor’s attempts to pry out your secrets from you, but in your hearts of hearts, you allow yourself to harbor hope once more. 


	71. Russel, lose your shit

* * *

 

There was a moment of silence, as Captain Anshar hit the ground, clutching the spear lodged in his gut as the other Captain smiled smugly. And then the dumbstruck silence was broken by a low, feral sound, as the Head Admin leaped off the catwalk high above and landed knee-first on the Captain’s face.

"You shouldn’t have done that," the greenblood snarled quietly, rolling off and out of harm’s way, in the same movement pulling an ax out of his sylladex.

The highblood howled in outrage, holding onto his broken nose, and charged the Admin with deadly intent.

And that was the day you learned to fear Russel Zephyr, in earnest, because he moved gracefully each time, flowing from one place to the next. Not fast, no,  _fluid_. And every swing of his ax hit its target, but didn’t aim to  _cut_. Instead he trimmed out slices of skin, deep enough to leave muscle visible, but not enough to impede movement. Cut after cut, until the exhausted highblood stopped trying to hit him entirely, and focused solely on avoiding the bite of the ax on his skin. And every slice widened the greenblood’s smile, just a sliver. Just enough to let anyone who watched him know how much he was  _enjoying_  himself.

"Admin Zephyr," Captain Zahhak said, when the highblood had been reduced to a scampering, stuttering mess that couldn’t move without swearing and flinching, and his arms and his face were skinless. "Take your price and let it go," he added, slow and resigned, and those last few who were still hoping to see the greenblood punished for his behavior watched in muted horror as the ax fell one last time, heavy and unforgiving.

"You shouldn’t have done that," Admin Zephyr told his victim - because by then you couldn’t really call him anything else - in the same quiet and serene voice you’ve grown used to but which will never sound the same to your ears again, ignoring the screams.

And you understood he meant,  _see what happens when you touch what’s mine_ , and pitied the handless highblood still screaming at his bloodied wrist. He sent the weapon, dripping blood many times colder than his own, into the depths of his sylladex and walked out of the hangar with Captain Nanshie helping him shoulder Captain Anshar.

People stopped joking, after that, about the Head Admin’s quadrants, and began to question, privately and in their heads, who really was whose pet, in that arrangement.


	72. Sollux, fear your ancestor

* * *

 

The empire itself stands still for the precious fraction of a second it takes him to be done, as your entire consciousness turns to him and his actions.

And you swear, in your heart of hearts, that no matter how monstrous and broken your chosen yoke leaves you, you will never allow yourself to become him. Because that’d be the day shutting yourself down would be the best thing you could do for Feferi, rather than hang over her people like a terrible catastrophe about to start.

Then the moment passes and every process falls into place, the skip too subtle for most to notice, and the Empire keeps running as it should, while you ensure no one hears about the monster lurking in your midst.


	73. Sollux, pester Aideen

* * *

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling rhetoricalRegina [RR]

TA: piick a number   
RR: why   
TA: cau2e iim bored and iin the mood two fuck wiith 2omeone   
RR: and now i must be accessory to your bullshit   
TA: iit2 what you liive for aiint iit   
RR: twenty two   
TA: now youre ju2t 2uckiing up   
RR: you asked for a number and i gave you one   
RR: what else do you want   
TA: fiine fiine   
TA: no need two get biitchy   
TA: done   
RR: alright   
TA: arent you goiing two a2k   
RR: if you want me to know, i will know   
TA: iim about two 2end my kii2me2ii2 iinto a frothiing rage   
RR: it must be thursday   
TA: quiiet you, hii2 mate2priit ii2 iinvolved   
RR: i stand corrected then   
RR: it must be tuesday   
TA: oh go fuck your2elf, wukong   
RR: after my shift is over sir   
RR: i will even make the extra effort to remember you are watching   
RR: and try to muster a few fucks to give about it   
TA: blah

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling rhetoricalRegina [RR]


	74. Eridan, stare at squid-ish death in the face

* * *

 

The enemy ship bursts through the launch tunnel with a thunderous sound that makes more than a few trolls cry out in surprise as they’re knocked off their feet by the force of the impact. You look up on reflex, because you’re a stupid, stupid idiot, and get half your face cut off for your efforts. You scramble to hold the wound in place, trying to stand from where you ended up sprawled on, and the floor is slick with blood and guts because the tealblood you were yelling at is suddenly in two neat halves all around you.

And then you hear the sound, too low for landdwellers to hear, to low for any troll’s throat to make, and when you look for the source you find the creature nearly upon you. Time slows down to a crawl as you stare in suicidal fascination at the mass of translucent tentacles and the pale blue eyes glowing above the maw aiming for your face.

And you remember being three, so full of hopes and dreams of greatness, and the night Feferi took your hand and presented you to her lusus, so she would know not to harm you when you came to visit. And you remember the forest of limbs that made no sense, and the thing in the back of your pan that screamed and screamed even as you ignored it, because Feferi was your moirail and you were big and strong and ready to help her shoulder her burden. You dreamed of Gl’bgolyb for sweeps after that, and you never really let yourself admit how terrified you were or why you never willingly went underwater afterwards.

Then the moment is over and someone who isn’t you, and thus isn’t a fucking idiot, shoots the creature right between the eyes, causing it to explode in a spectacular way. You scramble back to work, after that, and shove off the concern and the panic and yell the fucking shitbloods into work, until Equius comes to force you away.

They tell you you’re lucky to not have been infected, that that kind of close call usually ends with someone dead. You make a noncommittal sound and offhandedly mention the tealblood, while your mind curls around the stupidest thought you’ve ever had.

You stared up the maws and limbs of Gl’bgolyb, you wouldn’t commit the indignity of dying at the tentacles of an overgrown squid with a bad temper.


	75. Psii, get mad

* * *

 

There’s something quiet to your rage, something ominously peaceful as your mind settles into calm determination even if your powers continue to crackle and rage all around you. The world is eminently simple, right now, and you’re filled with a clarity you so rarely enjoy, as the entirety of your mind falls silent all at once.

They hurt your moirail.

They  _hurt_  your moirail.

You’ve ensured they will not hurt him further, now, so all that is left is find him and make sure this doesn’t happen again.

It will  _not_  happen again.

With enough focus to command your mind as a single whole, rather than a collection of multitasking pockets trying to keep your madness in check, you can even consider the course of action, should Eridan be hurt beyond repair. You try to remember why burning a hole in the very fabric of reality would be  _bad_ , but all you know is that you’re certain of it even if it is the most obvious and reasonable course of action.

And then you see him, walking towards you, alive and well and you’re glad you won’t have to struggle to remember why destroying everything is not a good idea, when you notice the larger troll behind him trying to hold him back. Trying to keep him from you. You don’t really notice who he is, all you notice is that you want him  _gone_.

"Mituna."

You can’t really make out the words, but you hear your name, and you feel his touch on your skin, the way he holds you like he wants to hide you inside his bones. And you forget entirely what you were doing, lose track of everything but the sound of his voice around words you don’t quite understand.

But it’s okay, because he’s fine and he’s got you and he’s  _real_. The quiet breaks to pieces under the spell of his voice, and the complicated dance of madness and sanity in your mind resumes once more, until you’re yourself again, and not the shell of yourself wrapped around white hot  _rage_.

Then you remember what you’ve done, and you truly become yourself once the self-loathing crashes down your spine like a tidal wave.


	76. Agness, rocks man, they're awesome

* * *

 

Sometimes, you wish you could fly. You walk down the mouth of the ravine, watching the abyss stretching a few steps away, and remember the graceful curls of your lusus as she dropped fearlessly from tree to tree, gliding merrily.

You tried it, once, when you were two, broke an arm and a leg, and decided you were not meant to glide. But you still think about it, every now and then.

To escape the temptation of the void, and the strange urge you have to jump into it, you look at your feet. At the rocks and the dirt and this strange, alien world that’s been made not so strange anymore. You reach down to grab a rock, thin and flat, and then fling it down into the ravine as hard as you can. Then you notice Eridan and Russel squabbling again, of course, and you throw maybe two or three rocks more, before stomping back and putting a stop to their nonsense.

You will not be jumping today, or any other day, not while you still have two idiots to look after.


	77. Russel and Agness, deal with Eridan being stupid

* * *

 

You sat Agness in your lap and wrapped your arms around her waist and stubbornly refused to let her storm out and try to find Eridan, once news of his… visit to the Chancellor’s office reached the block. She scratched your arms until they bled, hissing and spitting and throwing a tantrum you wouldn’t allow her, any other time.

She’s not  _yours_ , not the way your pets were, in the past.

You don’t want her for a pet, so you don’t attempt to control her, but you don’t want her dead, either, and you’ll do what needs to be done, to keep her alive.

"He’s going to die," she says, after a long long moment, and you make a mental note to strangle Eridan in the near future and hammer in the lesson that he’s not to make Agness upset, even if Eridan’s not yours, either. Someone ought to knock sense into his empty head, and it might as well be you. "He’s going to  _die_.” 

"He’s not going to die," you reply  calmly, resting your chin between her horns and still refusing to let her go. By now the scratching has turned into nervous fidgeting as she plays with the angry green lines she left on your skin, worrying them with her claws. "He’s not smart enough to die."

She makes an ugly, worried sound, and squirms some more in your lap, but you think she’s comforted, a bit, by your touch. When the doorlock beeps open, you open your arms wide for her to vacate your lap, since it’s very likely the source of your annoyance.

But then you take one good look at him, as he opens the door, and while Agness is picking up herself and trying not to make a scene, you give up pretenses and slam your fist straight into his nose. He goes down like a sack of rocks and makes the most satisfying noise in the world, when he hits the ground.

 


	78. Agness, watch Eridan run his mouth

* * *

 

You refuse to believe she’s real for as long as you can, staring in quiet, terrified horror at one of the most powerful and fearsome trolls in the galaxy.

In your common block.

There’s something very… reptilian about her, something that reminds you of your lusus, only larger and far more fearsome. Of course, while you’re busy mentally comparing how she holds up in person to the propaganda you’ve seen, she talks.

And before anyone can say anything, Eridan talks back.

Eridan.

Talks.

Back.

And he keeps talking back, too, digging a hole so big, it’s a miracle he’s not dead. You don’t dare say anything, not in public, not with  _Terezi fucking Pyrope_  in the room, so you do what you can: reach for his arm and sink your claws in until his blood is drenching your hand and your lap.

If you survive this, somehow, you decide to scream at Eridan until his fins fall off.


	79. Jake, go on an adventure, kid au

* * *

 

There’s a long, long silence as the Retainer stares down at Jake, expression a mixture of frustration, confusion and despair.

"What do you mean," she intones, slow and measured, "that you got it?"

"Just the thing, Ma’am!" He beams proudly, raising his hand to show her the head of a particularly monstrous creature she had been  _fairly certain_ , hadn’t existed in the first place. “Sneaked right under everyone’s nose, just like you said! I hurried as much as I could, so probably no one’s noticed I was gone.” He smiles sheepishly. “Would have been back sooner, I admit, but the drones caught up with me and I couldn’t not give them a friendly whomping, before going my way. You know how they are, Ma’am, always with the fisticuffs.”


	80. Jake, piss off the Retainer, kid au

* * *

 

"I know for a fact I’m not the deepest pail in the pile or the sharpest tool in the shed, Ma’am, but was this really necessary?" You frown a little, smile nowhere to be found as you raise the offending poisoned cup. "A bloke would have to be blind not to see this one."

The Retainer, despite it all, merely scoffs in annoyance, not in the least bit contrite.

 

 


	81. Jake, give the Retainer an ulcer, kid au

* * *

 

"…what do you mean you let her go? She’s a Virgin Mother Grub, you ridiculous… she’s invaluable!"

"Well, she wanted to go, I was not about to tell the lass that she very well couldn’t, was i?"

"Yes, you bloody well should have!"


	82. Feferi, invite Eridan to watch a play (sort of)

* * *

Her Imperious Complacence [)(IC] began trolling 4c657669617468616e20486561642041646d696e [4c65...]

)(IC: You can com-E, if you want.   
4c65...: I beg your pardon, Your Highness?   
)(IC: To t)(-E play.   
)(IC: I told Karkat to bring you along, if you wanted.   
)(IC: So.   
4c65...: I would not want to... importunate you, Your Highness.   
)(IC: If you did, you would know.   
)(IC: And b-E car-Eful not to l-Et anyon-E mistak-E your )(humbl-En-Ess for s-Elf-importanc-E, Admin Ampora.   
4c65...: ...of course, Your Highness.   
)(IC: So com-E, or don't. I don't car-E, it's your c)(oic-E.

Her Imperious Complacence [)(IC] ceased trolling 4c657669617468616e20486561642041646d696e [4c65...]


	83. Jake, be the smart guy, kid au

* * *

 

"So," you say, as no one says anything for the longest moment and you’re pretty sure you’re not interrupting anyone, "why don’t we just move the Mother Grub?"

"We can’t just  _move_  the Mother Grub,” the Retainer snaps impatiently, glowering down at you, “the brooding caverns have been her home since time immemorial!”

"Yes, but they’re really falling apart," you point out, blinking slowly behind your glasses, "between the good old tornado and the fires outside and the last three earthquakes and the staggering amount of rain… either they’ll be flooded or burnt down or collapsed."

There’s another long silence afterwards.

"I could ask the good lady, if you want, if she’s up for a little stroll to somewhere not doomed to be destroyed! Lass might not even mind!"


	84. Karkat, be the lowblood admin, what-if au

* * *

 

They said you didn’t have what it took, to be an Admin.

They said you couldn’t solve all your problems by yelling at people in creatively insulting tirades.

So you started punching people in the gut and proved them wrong.


	85. Eridan, bargain with the husktop

* * *

 

"Sol. Sol, please. I need my husktop to work. The entire  _ship_  needs this husktop to work, it’s the one with the Head Admin codes. Blow my tablet in my face again! Two in a row if you want! Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that. Sol. Sollux!”

Everyone summarily decided they were better off not knowing why Admin Ampora’s computer refused to work, when there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, or why he talked to the blank screen like it could answer.


	86. Gamzee and Karkat, tie the knot

* * *

 

He taught you the words, which you were surprised he even knew. You’ve said them to him a thousand times, trying to mimic the solemn cadence he’s somehow learned to use, when it comes to rites. He sounds less like a wreck waiting to happen and more like an actual force to be reckoned with, when he does. You’ve said the words and have him say them back to you, each and every time, and you know what they mean and how true they are.

You’re not quite sure why he has to stage this production in the first place, but you’ve learned to not ask questions, as far as Subjugglators are concerned. So you stand in front of him, utterly unfazed by the monstrosity your moirail’s grown into, and take his hands - really, a finger or two of each - in yours.

"Pale for you, moon pale, cloud pale, sworn in blood and steel."


	87. Equius, wreck your kismesis

**Cleaning the gill rings.**

* * *

 

He’s a sobbing, shaking wreck, by the time you’ve removed all the rings from his left side. Part of you wants to stop, because no matter what, you still think this counts as torture of some kind at best, disgusting pale advances at worst. The rest of you wants to keep going just to see how much he can take, because you’re certain you’ve never seen him reach his limit, as far as these things go.

He’s sitting in your lap, back against your chest, like you’re a troll-shaped armchair designed for his personal use. Legs spread as wide as your own, while his nook is stuffed full of your bulge. His frenzy has managed to drag at least two sinful orgasms out of your body, as his nook spasmed violently enough around your considerable girth that you couldn’t help but add to the mess he’s made of the chair and your pants and the floor. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s convulsed in your lap over a tug or a shift with a ring, but he’s long run out of genetic material to drip onto your lap and his bulge has retracted into its sheath, which is now swollen and pulsing in time with his heartbeat as your thumb rubs against it every now and then.

"We may stop," you say quietly, though pressing the words into a fin is very unlikely to help him stop shaking, "at any time you wish."

"Fuck you," he sobs, head tilted back onto your shoulder as he digs in his claws into the armchair. You appreciate, at least, the fact he’s not holding onto your thighs. "I could… I could…" He trails off as you run a hand down his sternum to his groin. " _Fuck_.”

When you shift your bulge inside him, you can feel it move beneath your hand, because the way he’s angling his hips and his back makes a suspicious  _bump_ become visible in his body. It does weird things to you, to rub your fingers against his skin and feel your bulge coiling so deep you’re certain you must be breaking him somehow.

"Perhaps when I’m done with the right side," you murmur, purely for the sake of watching his fins flutter and feeling his muscles clenching on reflex. "If you haven’t stopped me yet."

"This…" his thighs twitch as he tries to use them as leverage to change the angle you have him in, "this ain’t  _nothing_.”

A single lash of your bulge distracts him long enough that he doesn’t notice your hand reaching for the first ring, until you tug at it and he screams.

"I have often wondered," you say, as casually as you can make yourself to sound, "if you’re as good at begging as you’re at spreading your legs."

"Won’t find ou— _fuck_.”

This is crass and improper and terribly uncouth. It’s also one of the most entertaining and satisfying things you’ve done in recent memory. The fact that once you’ve cleaned and disinfected the rings and he’s showered and rest, you get to put each ring back, helps balance out the hideousness of the situation.

He’ll be the death of you, you’re certain, but as you start on the remaining rings, you decide you might as well return the goddamn favor.


	88. Karkat, save Eridan's life, what-if au

**What if, during that first Drone Season, Karkat had gotten to Eridan before Agness and Russel?**

* * *

 

"And what am I supposed to do?" He snarls, scowling darkly, "fuck shitbloods to get by?"

You shouldn’t have liquored yourself up for this meeting, no matter how much you thought you needed it. You should have kept yourself sober and clear-headed and sane, because then your first answer wouldn’t have been,

"You could always fuck me."

And then you wouldn’t be clawing at your desk, now, sobbing as Eridan’s bulge, the size of your fucking  _forearm_ , continues to destroy you inside out.

This was a terrible idea, you decide, with what little bit of coherency you have left, even if it feels  _amazing_. It’s probably just the alcohol, really, that makes you feel Eridan’s insistent pawing at your body is actually pleasant. It’s probably the alcohol behind the puddle of cherry red slurry on the carpet.

It must be


	89. Dualscar, make Garfit question their life choices

**"My life is glamorous, you're just too stupid to see it."**

* * *

 

"…is that a  _cape_?” Garfit says after a long, long moment, staring at you in fascination.

"Designed it myself, yeah," you smirk, and can’t help but preen a little.

"So I gathered," Garfit says, dismayed and probably jealous beyond words. "Oh god."


	90. Gamzee, show your true colors

**Distrait!Gamzee. The mask drops.**

* * *

 

"I don’t  _serve_  you,” you say, quiet and blunt, but the room is deadly silent under the weight of your powers near crushing everyone present, so your voice carries well enough. You chuckle wryly, watching your most imperial sister cling to her culling fork even under the onslaught of your earnest fearmongering. “I  _indulge_  you,” you leer at her, just as some of the others start to pass out, carefully avoiding to look at your moirail in the eye, even as he writhes in pain and betrayal by her side. “Because it motherfucking  _pleases_  me to indulge you. Don’t forget that, little Empress, and I’ll never get tired of indulging you.”


	91. Equius, be really really hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [these](http://temporaldecay.tumblr.com/post/54629704490/squidbiscuit-aha-well-there-was-such-a-huge) [pics](http://temporaldecay.tumblr.com/post/54629679239/squidbiscuit-a-discussion-on-da-led-to-me).

**The worst haircut EVER.**

* * *

"Holy  _shit_ ,” Eridan says, staring wide eyed as you continue to run your hands through your hair nervously.

"It’s temporary," you say, miserably, "it’ll—"

"Fuck that," he leers, hard enough you actually physically flinch back from it, "you’re not allowed to let your hair grow anymore, holy fuck."


	92. Agness, realize you've made a big mistake

**First time Agness turned to drinking after becoming sector admin of a bunch of scientists.**

* * *

 

You step on your block as the door closes behind you, but you don’t have it in yourself to force yourself to step forward, instead leaning back against the closed door and slowly sliding down onto the floor with a shuddering breath.

Half the things you saw today you always thought were impossible, and the other half too obviously stupid for anyone with the required IQ to avoid culling to do.

And yet they happened.

You saw them happen.

And it was just the first shift.

You take another shuddering breath and then stand up again, opening the door and walking on autopilot to the liquor store. 


	93. Eridan, hate life

**H/C because Eridan got sopor in his gills.**

* * *

 

"I hate everything," Eridan whines, leaning on the wall of the ablution block while you keep the showerhead pumping water straight into his gills. "Sixty eight sweeps, Psii," he grouses miserably, and you focus on the sound of his voice and not the side of slick, thick blood pouring out mixed with the water and the sopor. "Sixty eight fucking sweeps since my last gill infection," he goes on, barely keeping up the pretend that he’s standing, when your powers are the only reason he’s not a heap of whimpering pain on the floor. "And I get one out of a bad batch of fucking sopor."

 


	94. John, piss off Karkat, kid au

**Distrait!John/Distrait!Karkat arguing over something.**

* * *

 

“ _Egbert_ ,” the Chancellor hollers from the doorway, causing your entire team to flinch and, in the case of the wiser ones, drop to the ground and cover their heads with their hands, “you shitastic bag of rotten slurry, what’s the fucking meaning of this?”

He stomps over to where you are, just so he can shake a piece of paper in your face. You blink a little and push your glasses up your nose, before you recognize the flyer and beam proudly at him.

"The new drone contribution campaign!" You say, grinning widely and in the least bit concerned when he starts growling in the back of his throat. "What better way to inspire young trolls to do their part for the Empire than with a message from the Chancellor himself!"

“ _You photoshoped my and my matesprit’s heads on a porn pinup._ ”

"Gosh, I know!" You preen a little. "It took us so long to find the right picture, isn’t it perfect?"


	95. Karkat, witness something unfortunate

**Karkat when he walked in on Agness and Eridan fucking.**

* * *

 

You have a sickle in your hand and you don’t notice until Eridan warbles wantonly in the back of his throat. Then the rest of the scene falls into place like a mountain of bricks on your head and you’re stalking away as fast as your feet will take you, fingers clenched so tightly on that handle it’s a miracle it doesn’t break.

You throw it away, when you reach the safety of your borrowed quarters, and then laugh and cry and hate yourself for things you can’t bring yourself to name.


	96. Jade, be awesome, kid au

**Distrait! Jade, being badass and making people clutch their heads in woe.**

* * *

 

"Oh my god, get out of the way," a tiny green blood snaps, shoving a couple burly soldiers out of the way to get a clear shot on the writhing monstrosity rampaging the lab. "I swear to fucking god—"

"He-hey!" You say, not really sure if you should stop her, considering no one else seems to have any idea what to do about the whole situation.

"There," she grins, shooting right at the pulsing, glowing center and causing the creature to screech and then explode into a fine layer of guts and blood that covers pretty much every inch of the block. "I didn’t make the fucking off button glowing for nothing! What the hell’s wrong with you, people?"


	97. Jake, meet your ancestor, kid au

**Jadeblood!Jake meets his ancestor.**

* * *

 

"It wasn’t all that bad, old sport," the ancient troll tells you, chuckling a little under his breath. "Lose some, win some, I like to say!"

"But…" you start, and then stop, because you’re not sure how to handle the fact that he’s glowing and he’s apparently  _alive_ … in a very  _undead_  kind of way.

"I know!" He smirks, "want me to teach you how to wrestle those scampering drones good and proper?"


	98. Psii, you have a Craftmine problem

**"I don't know what you're talking about, this game is NOT at ALL addicting."**

* * *

 

"…you haven’t slept in four days."

"I’ve gone longer without sleep."

"Psii, save your game and go to sleep, or so help me god I will acquaint you with an actual real life pickax."

"But, but,  _diamonds_!”

“ _No_.”


	99. Shaula, drive Eridan up a wall

**YOU found him, YOU deal with him. Her. Whatever.**

* * *

 

"Hey, Douchefins."

You look up to see her pulling a rope tied to a—-oh sweet mothergrubs tits.

"No," you deadpan, glaring at her for all you’re worth.

"Aww, c’mon, it’d be fun."


	100. Eridan, be territorial

**Eridan: If you touch that again I'll rip off your arms and shove them up your nook.**

* * *

 

"You don’t have the guts, Ampora," Vriska smirks, even as you press the tip of the rifle up against her throat.

"You try to get your fucking psychic bullshit inside my moirail’s pan again," you growl, low and murderous, "and believe me, I will  _find_  the guts.”

"They’d cull you for—"

"Small price to pay," you snarl, viciously pleased with the way her eyes widen, just a sliver, "if you fucking ask me.  _Get the fuck away from my moirail_ , Serket, or else.”

 


	101. Kanaya, be amused at your job

**Distrait!Kanaya on one of the previously conquered colonies or doing some kind of damage control related to her job.**

* * *

 

The boy - though he’s hardly a boy, he’s probably much older than you, but his posture and his nervousness say the contrary - looks at you with a muted fear that you summarily refuse to acknowledge.

"It’s not what you think," he blurts out, as soon as the door closes behind you, looking at you with desperation written all over his face, "I swear to you, my Lady, I’m not a traitor."

"I would hope not," you say, as pleasantly as you can, "it would set an awful precedent for inter-species romance, as it is."


	102. Karkat and Eridan, get kinky

**Nookworms. Maybe Eridan and Karkat experimenting.**

* * *

"Oh wow, okay, that’s lively," Karkat says, holding the thing in his hand as it squirms around, trying to free itself from his hold. "You sure about this?"

"Sure," you say, a lot less certain than you’d like, but you spread your legs for him anyway. "Can’t be that—- _oooh_.”

And then it’s crawling  _in_ , and you can feel it, as it moves, and you shriek a little but you’re coming already, without really understanding  _why_.

 


	103. Garfit, meet YOUR ancestor

**Alston & Garfit, discussing the balance of duty and personal life.**

* * *

 

"…it doesn’t end," you say, quiet as if afraid of the words themselves, but in millennia you’ve been alive, this might be the only time you are allowed the weakness to admit it, "I am so tired and  _it doesn’t end_.”

You fold into his arms willingly, shamelessly stealing every bit of comfort you are offered, because the world is a dreary place and no matter how long you’ve held up the charade, the mask is still barely skin deep, if one knows where to look.

"I know, child," he says, and you believe it purely by the tone of his voice, this… splintered mirage of yourself, "I know, but neither do we."


	104. Eridan, love your puffers

**Something happy.**

* * *

 

"I like that one," Eridan says, pointing to an orange and white ball of spikes busy chewing on a bit of coral, "he likes petting."

You might have a decidedly poor opinion of the fish in the tank, purely because you know where they came from and you’re still half expecting one of them to explode instead of puffing, but you can’t deny there really isn’t anything cuter this side of the galaxy, than your matesprit cooing excitedly about them.

"I didn’t know fish did the whole petting thing," you say, unable to resist the half smile tugging at your lips as Eridan all but preens.

"Mine do," he says, proud of this fact as if it were his doing, and there’s nothing left for you but to kiss the dumb moron until he stops being fucking  _adorable_.


	105. Karkat, deal with the cult

**Interaction between Shisah and Karkat? And maybe even Eridan's and Psii's reactions to it?**

* * *

 

Eridan starts snickering for no good reason, after his meeting with Zebeck and Exequy. He’ll be doing his thing, and then stop and snicker under his breath for a few seconds, before gathering himself and going on like nothing happened. You study this new, bewildering development and wonder if you should be worried. He hasn’t told you anything noteworthy, either. Not even a new piercing for you to lineface at or another gaudy design for the tattoo of your sign on his wrist for you to reject on grounds of not allowing your sign to be defiled that way. Just the occasional snickering that makes you wonder if he’s undergoing a manic fit and you’re too dumb to see it.

"Oh, love," he says, when you ask him, frustrated with yourself for somehow managing to make the whole thing about you again, and sigh sullenly when he kisses your forehead and your eyelids, and grins. "We’re going to Alternia," he gives you a co-conspirator’s true look, but you only manage to blink blankly in reply. "You’ll see," he purrs, and goes off to do his work and snicker some more, on his own.

When the time comes, you  _do_  see. The Governors of Alternia receive the Chancellor with enough pomp you’d think they’re receiving the Empress herself. There are flowers and lights and singing and elaborate dance choreographies and solemn readings of old texts that takes you embarrassingly too long to recognize.

Vantas spends the whole time staring straight ahead, lips pulled into a tight, awkward smile that lets one see, through his parted lips, how tightly clenched his teeth are. You find yourself echoing Eridan’s snickering as the Governors begin their speech, which is almost like performance art. One begins the line but the other finishes it, and there’s such an undercurrent of snappy annoyance in their tones, that you’re surprised they don’t end up making out on the podium instead.

Eridan holds your hand tightly, when Karkat stands up at the end of the ceremonies, fingers entwined as he buries his face into the side of your head. You find yourself biting the inside of your lip to avoid cracking up as he snatches the microphone - which is set too high for him, oh god - and stomps up to the center of the room.

"First of all," he snarls, looking around, "fuck  _you_ ,” he says, pointing at one of the Governors, “and fuck  _you_ ,” he adds, swiftly pointing at the other, so he doesn’t even have a chance to gloat. “ _Fuck_  your cult and my Ancestor, and  _how fucking dare you!_ ”

You blink a bit and pull back to look at Eridan’s face, when you realize he’s muttering along Vantas’ impassioned meltdown. Eridan swallows a snicker and grins at you with all his teeth.

"Every time," he says, his tone betraying his absolute glee at the situation, " _every single time, the exact_ _same_ _fucking thing_.” 


	106. Admin Trio, finals

**The Admin Trio face the great horror that is final study guides.**

* * *

 

"Maybe I could kill myself," Eridan deadpans, sprawled awkwardly on the floor, squinting at his husktop. "Maybe that’s the right answer."

"If you’re looking at number forty eight," Agness pipes in, equally awkwardly sprawled on the couch, "the answer is actually killing me first, then killing yourself."

"No one is killing anyone," you mutter, for lack of anything better to say.

They ignore you.

"How the fuck are you on number forty eight?" Eridan demands, squirming around until he can glare at Agness without raising his head. "I’m still on twenty six."

"I’m on fifty two, actually," Agness smirks smugly, shifting around until one of her legs is hooked on one of your horns and her head is hanging off the side of the couch. "You’re just  _sloooow_.”

"I’m hungry," you tell no one in particular, still fretfully struggling with number thirty one.

That too goes unnoticed.

"I hate everything," Eridan groans, shifting about in a way that should technically involve snapping his spine and yet somehow doesn’t.

"You don’t hate  _me_ ,” Agness pouts for effect. “You can hate everything, but you can’t hate me.”

"Fine, I hate everything  _except_  you,” Eridan concedes, magnanimous. “And maybe Russ, sometimes.”

"Appreciated," you deadpan, moving onto number thirty two before you give into the urge to just set the entire block on fire.


	107. Admin Trio, incubating eggs, grub au

**The Admin Trio tries to incubate a clutch of eggs while hiding them during Academy days.**

* * *

 

"So… do you incubate them or something?"

"What?"

"Well, my lusus was a snake and she liked to eat bird’s eggs and these kinda look like those, so I’m wondering!"

"That’s the dumbest—-Russ, tell her she’s being dumb!"

"Dude, I’m the wrong shade of green to comment on troll reproduction and my lusus was a  _goat_. I’m staying the fuck out of this.”


	108. Russel, continue to not give a fuck, grub au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Inspired by this awesome piece of fanart.](http://lizardlicks.tumblr.com/post/63049449025/okay-but-i-remembered-that-agness-knits-and-i)

**The Admin Trio trying to deal with eggs and wigglers and the Academy.**

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Eridan croaks, absently cuddling his eggs - oh dear god, that’s never  _not_  going to be mildly horrifying, no matter how much you think about it - closer to his chest, “you’re telling me there’s a weird ass blood law that might actually let me argue for a right to not be grievously culled and keep the grubs and basically solve all of our problems?”

"You’re a seadweller and you’re oviparous, so yeah." Agness looks obscenely proud of herself, which is a nice change after the frantic panicking of the past few nights. "It’s one of those dusty weird things the Empress hasn’t bothered to even look at, and I doubt she’d revoke just to personally piss you off."

"The Empress personally hates me, though," Eridan croaks, huddling a little further into his corner of the block. "Like, a lot."

"Which I don’t doubt you deserve," Agness snorts, rolling her eyes and utterly ignoring Eridan’s wibbling, "but to actually act on it would make her look petty, which she can’t afford right now. So you’re probably okay, and we’ll probably be okay, and we’ll just have to fake it until we make it. Now someone hug me because you don’t want to know how far down the hopbeast hole I went to find that out and I desperately need some loving."

Given Eridan’s busy with his eggs -  _seriously_  - you dutifully open your arms and let her curl up in them, while also politely ignoring the desperate chirring sound coming out of her throat as she gives in and falls back into panic again.

* * *

 

"They look squishable," you venture, ignoring the way Agness is hiding behind you because Eridan is hissing like a feral thing and he’s actually mildly terrifying when he does that. The comment earns you a snarl and a growl, and you shrug. "I’m not saying I want to squish them, I’m saying the look squishable. So… something should be done about that."

You say something, because you’re not really sure what exactly, but you can’t really afford to lose your cool, when you have two morons to look after.

"I’ll knit something," Agness says, voice a little squeaky, before she squirrels out of the block like the gleeful coward she is.

"Well," you sigh, and purposely ignore the very familiar shape of the grubs’ horns, considering the blood colors are all wrong, "that’s something, I suppose."

* * *

 

You get a commendation for your performance during the audit final, purely because the examination committee was fucking impressed at the sheer aplomb you displayed, despite the fact you had a colorful knitted bag hanging off a shoulder and three very curious grubs squeaking and poking their little heads out every so often.

Agness whines about it for about a week.

Eridan just continues to whimper and pretend there’s nothing going on at all while he revises his integrals notes, despite the fact there’s a tealblood grub sitting right between his horns.

You start to wonder what’ll happen when they pupate, and then decide you’re not drunk enough to contemplate the possibility.

 


	109. Rose, meet the Chancellor, kid au

**Troll!Rose comes to the attention of Chancellor Karkat.**

* * *

 

"Please, Chancellor, sir," she says, and though the words are right, you find your skin crawling a little because you’re certain she’s mocking you somehow, "if I had any stake in the ridiculous power plays of the Inner Rim or any delusions that not all power belongs to you and our most gracious Empress, I would not have chosen to spend most of my life here in the Fringe." She arches an eyebrow, almost coy. "I merely find the idea that there exists knowledge inaccessible to trolls rather offensive."

"And by trolls," you snort, tone dry, "you mean yourself."

"Obviously," she smiles, shrugging elegantly. "I find honesty a great virtue, my Lord."

 


	110. Shisah, court the Huntress

**When Shisah and Nepeta first got together!**

* * *

 

"I think… I think it’s okay," she says, shrugging slightly, and it hurts you somewhere deep inside, to see the lines around her smile. "To let it go, now."

"But you deserve to be happy," you reply, quiet and sad and in awe, of this child who is and isn’t what you expected.

"Oh, I," she laughs to cover up the way she chokes on the words, and you fidget with your sleeves, because it is not your place to reach out and give her the hug you desperately want to offer her, "I’ll be, I’m gonna be," she shrugs again, smile sad, "just… probably not with him."

"I am sorry, my Lady," the words are out of your mouth on reflex, though you dearly wish you had something more to offer her.

"I’m going to hug you now and cry really loudly, okay," and then she’s in your arms, and you’re  _touching_  her.

You don’t quite remember how you end up on the floor, carding your fingers through her hair - not soft at all, and you don’t know why, but you always expected it to  _be_  soft and the reality of the situation keeps you petting her dry, untamed hair some more - and poisoning yourself with pity.

"I can be happy if he’s happy," she says, when her sobs have died out, and she’s sniffling against a hand. You never imagined she’d sniffle or curse or purr or do any of the thousand things you’ve learned she does, because the scripture never prepared you to meet someone who was an actual person, and not a concept. "I just… need to find someone who is happy when I’m happy, too."

You pull her close to you, and you’re not supposed to, but you  _want_  to. Whatever happens next, you want to know what’s like to hold her like that, to be able to remember. The amazing thing is that she doesn’t pull back or ask or demand, she just melts into it, arms wrapped around your back. 

The scripture didn’t prepare you for this, but as she pulls away and smiles at you, you find that you don’t care.


	111. Karkat, rage

**Can we see our Dear Chancellor in desperate need of papping?**

* * *

 

You can hear the screeching all the way to the bridge.

"You sure you wanna do this, Ampora?" Saanvi asks, one more time, and then you all wince as Karkat’s voice hits a pitch that’s actually physically painful.

"It’s not like we have a choice," you mutter a little dispairingly, "he’s going to hurt himself otherwise."

There’s a moment of silence as everyone present winces and shudders at the possibility, considering that you’re about to contact the  _other_  reason Karkat Vantas is virtually untouchable in the Empire. (Besides the fact he’s the undisputed scariest troll in the motherfucking galaxy, that is.)

"Point," Saanvi snorts, and nods at Harper, who opens the main communication channel.

A large, terrifying throne appears on the main display after a moment, though the giant troll sitting on it isn’t visible from the shadows, and you spare a moment to wonder how Gamzee’s throne block works exactly, before mentally shrugging and gathering aplomb.

"I’m—"

"Why," Gamzee interrupts, and you congratulate yourself for not whimpering, "am I up and wasting my mother fucking time with your god damned yapping, fishstick, when my palebro needs me?"

"I’ll just transfer the call," you say, almost without squeaking, and Gamzee vanishes from the main display.

You grab a terminal and hurry to Karkat’s office block, not bothering to knock.

"Here!" You yelp, all but shoving the communicator into Karkat’s hands, and carefully avoiding to look at any of the terrified trolls plastered to the walls.

Karkat opens his mouth to yell bloody murder at you, but Gamzee’s crooning echoes from the terminal and absorbs his attention instead. Only when you’re certain that the rest of the world has ceased to exist in his perception, you dare herd the other trolls out of the room. You do the polite thing and say nothing about whoever pissed themselves in the fray. You can’t really blame them, after all.


	112. Eridan, suffer stoically

***I know a song that get's on everybody's nerves!* Someone using music or singing as psychological warfare.**

* * *

 

"…why are you listening to [that monstrosity](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKCXZsZ6X7A) on repeat?” Psii asks, coming to sprawl on your back as you try to force yourself to read through a cargo report.

"I’m not," you mutter, sulking even when he nuzzles the side of your head. "Your _descendant_ ,” and you’re almost proud of yourself for how much viciousness you manage to put into the word, “is throwing a tantrum.” The absolute shithead has the nerve to chuckle. “ _I hate you_.”

"Nah," he nuzzles your cheek, "you don’t."

 


	113. Eridan and Psii, pale porn live

**Eridan <>Psii, being pornographically pale in public and giving no fucks about who's uncomfortable with it.**

* * *

 

The admin rec block has a corner that no one ventures into. There isn’t a law or anything, and no one would get hurt if they went there, either. It’s just that the Head Admin likes to plop there after a shift, and no long after his moirail will come and plop on him in turn, and then there will be underhanded paps and kisses and even soft _shooshing_.

The Head Admin tends to be as unapologetic about his moirail as he is about his coffee. That is to say, he gives absolutely no fucks about the rest of the world and trying to argue with him will only result in mocking laughter.

So no one goes into that corner of the rec block, because no one really needs to see any of that.

Well, except the fresh meat, because they’re fresh meat and the sooner they get over it, the better.


	114. Eridan, manic and coffee-less

**Some poor kid forgot to bring maniac!Eridan his coffee.**

* * *

"What do you mean," the Head Admin hisses, seemingly swelling in size, "you  _forgot_ my coffee?”

There’s a moment of silence as every troll hanging off the maintenance shaft stops what they’re doing and stares at the poor troll whimpering before the suddenly obscenely huge Head Admin, whose eyes are steadily bleeding red.

"I—" he squeaks, cowering, "I’m sorry—"

Trolls scatter like ants, vacating the entire shaft until it’s only the poor boy and the Head Admin left, standing on a rickety catwalk. By the time the others come back, carrying mugs and thermos and even the occasional chocolate bar, the Head Admin has the kid by the lapels of his uniform, legs kicking a few feet off the ground, and he’s doing that seadweller screech thing that isn’t even  _words_  anymore.

 


	115. Russel, regret everything

**Russel walks in on something unfortunate that leaves him scared for life.**

* * *

 

"Sir, I need—"

There’s an awkward, thunderous silence in the block as you take in the scene.

"It’s not—" Zahhak splutters, drenching through his clothes in record time.

"Your hat’s crooked," you say, holding onto your deadpan with all your might and refusing to comment on anything else, as the gigantic troll tugs at the skirt of his maid uniform. "I’ll come back later," you promise/threat, and then turn around on your heel and briskly make your way towards the closest source of alcohol available.


	116. Karkat, meet Eridan's brood, grub au

**Karkat meets Eridan's grubs.**

* * *

 

Someone knit them a bag and they’re cuddling in there comfortably, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You resist the urge to sway and instead turn to find Eridan watching you with a mixture of apprehension and barely concealed threat.

"Knock it off, shithead," you snap, with far more aplomb that you ever thought you had, "nobody’s going to fuck with you provided you haven’t fucked with anyone."

Eridan smiles, thin and fake.

"Where do you think grubs come from, Kar?"


	117. Karkat, new favorite people

**Karkat meeting someone shorter then him.**

* * *

 

"Uh, Kar?" Eridan fidgets a little as he pokes his head into the room. "You remember that thing we talked about? About Psii and his friend?"

"Helmsman Mushka, yeah," you say blink at him, arching an eyebrow.

Of course you remember, this whole debacle isn’t the kind of thing one  _forgets_.

"You said you wanted to meet her," Eridan goes on, finally stepping into the room, "so…"

She’s tiny. She’s not small, she’s positively  _tiny_. Thin and bony like all Helmsmen, due to the strain her work put on her body, but…  _tiny_. Half a foot shorter than you, at the very least.

She’s officially your new best friend.

"Whatever you want," you say, putting down your tablet to give her the nicest smile you can - which makes Eridan choke on spit - as you beckon her closer to you, "is yours. Anything, really."

You decide you  _really_  like her when she tilts her head slightly to the side, expression shrewd.

“ _Right_.”


	118. Russel, regret everything even more, grub au

**Russel, the grubs have pupated.**

* * *

 

It’s not that hard, to get used to half the block near constantly occupied by tiny terrors with eerily familiar horns. Tiny little people who do their own thing and still look to you three like you used to look at your lusus. It’s weird, but at the same time, it’s not so weird you can’t get used to it. You’ve gotten used to Eridan, after all.

So you don’t really mind, going about your business studying for your classes and doing homework, and occasionally having one or two or three miniature trolls worming their way into your personal space without saying a word.

You kinda like the little rascals, actually, but you’re not sure if you’re supposed to.


	119. Karkat, ascend

**IF KARKAT BALANCES ON THE VERY TO OF ERIDAN'S HEAD HE WOULD BE A TINY BIT TALLER THEN GAMZEE.**

* * *

 

"I can, probably," Eridan tilts his head to the side, "but I still don’t get why I  _would_.”

"For science!" Karkat yells, raising his glass with a wide grin, "and because fuck Gamzee."

"I like living so I’m not gonna answer to that," Eridan mutters, and then dutifully bends down to his knees as Karkat tries to balance himself on his shoulders first. "This is a terrible idea."

"Science!" Karkat hoots, holding onto the ceiling and trying to gather enough courage to step on Eridan’s head.


	120. Karkat, be the responsible moirail

**Karkat brushing Gamzee's mane of hair and grumbling and Gamzee is in bliss. Grooming bascially.**

* * *

 

"You changed your tattoos again," you say, staring up at him and squinting at the designs on his skin, only visible because for some panrotten reason he has UV lights in his ablution block, instead of normal ones.

"Yup," he grins, that stupid, ridiculous grin that always makes your insides melt a little, and then he slowly sits down on the floor, tacitly putting himself on your hands.

"And you’re not gonna tell me why," you add, circling around until you reach the gnarled knots he calls hair.

"Nope," he purrs, loud and decadent, as you dig your claws in and start spreading the disgusting mess of hair and blood and paint, so water can actually get through.

"You fucking bastard," you say, more for effect than anything else, and start the slow, tedious process of washing his hair.

The water runs black, pretty much just mud, as you get rid of all the blood caked deep between the strands. It’s not even that he doesn’t wash himself if you’re not around, since you know he does, in fact, love water way more than any sane landdweller should. But his ridiculous rituals always involve putting all sorts of shit on his hair and you don’t want to know where that shit comes from.

When you’re done, you move in to scrub his skin clean of paint and  _stuff_ , and then you finally, finally get to see his face. You lean in to kiss his cheek because it means the world to him, to show you his skin bare, and you appreciate it for what it is. He leans in to nuzzle the underside of you neck, and for a brief moment, when he’s purring contently and you’ve washed away all the signs of his office, he’s just another troll. Maybe a bit bigger than average, but nothing else.

"Pale for you," you whisper, purring a little yourself when arms come wrap around you, pulling you closer.

"Paler than bones and stars, best friend," he rumbles, voice almost sweet.

Later, when the moment passes and you busy yourself brushing his hair, which probably weighs more than you do, you muse to yourself that the truly terrifying thing about Gamzee is not the paint or the blood or his cult or his powers or his size.

The really scary thing about Gamzee is that he has the potential to be as sweet as he can be cruel, and the only reason he isn’t is because he  _chooses_  to. He  _chooses_  to grin and maim and murder. He chooses to taunt and cackle and leer.

Just like when he’s with you he chooses to purr and smile and use his nicest tones.

He is exactly who he chooses to be, and every time you think about it, your entire being throbs with bottomless pity because he also chose  _you_.


	121. Psii, behold March!Eridan

**Psii (+eridan?) A very familiar outfit.**

* * *

 

"Really, you have no one but yourself to blame," Psii says, sitting backwards on his chair so he can hook his chin on the backrest and give you a half-lidded stare.

"You’re not helping," you inform him tartly, then yelp a little when you feel static race up your legs, pulling the stockings in place. " _That doesn’t count as helping_ ,” you whine, tugging at the goddamn tartan skirt that barely even covers your butt.

"Would it help if I reminded you I told you not to make bets with Arthur?" He asks, all innocent and shit, and you throw the brush in your hand at his head.

“ _Shut up_ ,” you hiss, stomping over to where your boots are lying, and refusing to comment on the way the stupid skirt sways with every step.

"Because I did tell you not to make bets with Arthur," Psii goes on, amused, "he’s an Imoogi, after all."

"He’s a jerkfuck," you snarl, violently zipping up the boot. "And  _you_ 're a jerkfuck.  _And everyone but me is a fucking jerkfuck._ ”


	122. Gamzee, lay down the law, grub au

**Could I please get oviparous Eridan and his and Karkat's grub? Pretty please? And maybe Gamzee's reaction to it.**

* * *

 

"You and I," Gamzee says, leaning in until his nose is nearly touching yours, "we _understand_  each other, don’t we?”

You cuddle the grub closer to your chest, ignoring the way it clicks in protest, as if it could feel your fear. You nod slowly.

"Sure," you say, shakily, and swallow hard when Gamzee sits back giving you a wide grin.

"So you be good, shitting out those eggs," he sneers, and the facepaint only serves to make it  _terrifying_ , “keeping my best friend all happy and shit, it ain’t that hard.” You stop breathing, when he reaches down a claw and musses up the grub’s hair, so delicate you would mistake the gesture as affectionate if it weren’t  _Gamzee_. “Then a motherfucker won’t have to smear your fucking guts all over the walls, right?”

"Right," you squeak, clutching the grub desperately and pressing against the wall.

"Heh, shouldn’t hug it too hard, motherfucker," Gamzee slurs the words mockingly, honking out a laugh, "you’re gonna up and squeeze the fucking filling out of it."


	123. Equius, skype sex fail

**Equius and Eridan have the weirdest skype sex.**

* * *

 

"Can you not?" Equius demands, voice somewhere between pleasantly husky and viciously angry.

"You have three fingers up your nook and you can’t handle the word?" Eridan laughs, easy and terrible as he makes a point to moan wantonly into the microphone. "Oh god, you’re disastrous."

"I find that—"

"Nook," Eridan says, as lewdly as possible, and then cracks up laughing again as Equius squeaks. "Oh god, what I wouldn’t give to see your face right now."


	124. Karkat, grubs ain't so bad, grub au

**Karkat secretly playing with his/Eridan/Equius' grubs?**

* * *

 

They click inquisitively as you sit down on the floor by them, and there’s something terrifying in the way they make they way to where you are, chirping. They climb into your lap, curling around each other and burrowing against your legs, and you finger their hair and their tiny horns and wonder what the fuck is even going on with your life anymore.

If Eridan sees you, sitting on the floor with a lapful of grubs, absently purring back at them and letting them nibble on your fingers, he loves you enough to not say anything at all.

 


	125. Rose, meet the Dragon, kid au

**Seadweller!Rose and Garfit-- "Horrorterrors ate my pass-papers."**

* * *

"Honestly, dear," you say, arching an eyebrow at her and tilting your head to the side, "that was an entire space station you somehow managed to blow up."

"Accidents happen," she replies, demure and unruffled, and if you didn’t actually like this child so much, you would stab her eyes with a fork for using that tone with you. "It was utmost unfortunate."

"I’m sure," you drawl, shaking your head slowly, "though not nearly as unfortunate as me having to clean up after your mess. It’s bad enough you can’t be trusted to find adequate specimens on your own, Lalonde, the next time you destroy your base of operations, for your own good, make sure you also explode along with it."


	126. Psii, be unsurprised, grub au

**How about Psi meeting the Eri grubs.**

* * *

 

"I don’t know why I expected anything different," Eridan grouses, staring at you with that half-lidded, lips-pursed look of annoyance of his.

You shrug, going back to your game as you dig down to find some diamonds, completely unruffled by the grubs currently crawling all over your body and trying to find comfortable perches for themselves.

Eridan makes a sound of frustration before stomping away, eyes rolling so hard you swear you can  _hear_  it.


	127. Eridan and Psii, chocolate

**Outtakes from Later and Before and By Yourself.**

* * *

 

"Mine," you say, clutching the chocolate bar to your chest defensively.

Psii stares at you.

“ _No_ ,” you add, trying valiantly to resist. “Go find your own.”

The absolute shithead sticks out his lip in the faintest pout.

"I hate you so much," you whine in defeat, after perhaps ten seconds under the onslaught, shoving the entire thing on his chest.


	128. Equius, reevalute your head admin

**Outtakes from Breathe In.**

* * *

 

"So," you say, as casually as you can, which is not one bit, "Ampora."

Zephyr lowers his tablet excruciatingly slowly and gives you a flat look over the rim of it. The silence stretches and snaps under the weight of the sheer awkwardness contained in the block and you find yourself sweating with renewed vigor.

"Nevermind," you croak hoarsely, and then abscond as fast as your feet can take you.


	129. Agness, be jealous

**Outtakes from Into The Purple Night Sky.**

* * *

 

"Things I never thought I’d actually, desperately want to have," Agness says, laughing even as her bulge coils into knots inside your nook and her claws dig in hard enough to leave bleeding marks on your hips. "Gills."

You pull your mouth away from Russel’s nook to make a snide remark, because when have you been able to not make a snide remark about something, but then Russel pinches the edges of your gills with his fingers and the sound you make is barely troll-like.

"Yeah," Agness croons, as Russel shoves your face back between his legs, "like that."


	130. Darkleer, worry

**Outtakes from Clad in Green and something Other.**

* * *

 

"You shouldn’t worry about her," Aswini says, blowing softly on the rim of the crude wood mugs you’ve made at her behest, staring intently at the red tea in it as she waits for it to cool enough to drink.

"About who?" You ask, perhaps stupidly, but it’s early and you might not be as awake as you’d like.

"Mindfang," Aswini says, matter of factly. "She’s perfectly aware of the fate she’s about to meet, and she’s willing to face it head on. She would not appreciate your worry."

"She would not appreciate anything of mine," you muse, perhaps a bit too brusquely, as you stare down at your own mug.

"She’s lucky," your Handmaid-in-turn shrugs pragmatically, looking up at the ceiling with a smile, "out of all her bloodline she’s the only one whose fate was inherently kind."

"Do you know a lot about her bloodline?" You meant the question to be snide, but Aswini chooses to take it seriously.

"Her children will grow in light and dark, and their actions will entwine and bring ruin onto themselves and each other." She chuckles. "There are worse things to enrage, than a scorned matesprit, Darkleer. Things better left alone, nameless things." She tilts her head to the side. "Your tea will go cold if you don’t drink it."


	131. Cadmus, seethe

**Outtakes from Dragon of the Fringe.**

* * *

 

"Cadmus."

The boy flinches ever so slightly.

"He’s—"

"An acceptable pawn," you interrupt, arching an eyebrow at him.

"A  _mutant_ ,” he snarls, scowling for all he’s worth, and you make no attempt to hide the roll of your eyes.

"Which is not at all incompatible with his role as a pawn for us, or his suitable performance in said role."

"But—"

"When you are Lord Imoogi," you say, viciously smug in a way that makes him flinch again, "you may dispose of him, if you find him lacking. Alas, you’re not." You arch an eyebrow at him and summon a sword from your sylladex, which you then offer at him with a flourish. "Yet. So unless you’re keen on claiming your due early, I suggest you make peace with the fact you will be serving a mutant for the time being."

He cringes away from the blade, horrified by the idea, because deep down he is a good boy and you’ve raised him properly. He bows his head, instead.

"Yes, Lord Imoogi."

You’re certain both Cadmus and Vantas will learn much from each other, and just as reluctantly.


	132. Garfit, lie

**Outtakes from Dragon of the Fringe.**

* * *

 

"What was he like?" Eridan asks you, as he stares down at the water, and his expression is transparent enough to make you ache. "I mean,  _really_  like?”

You could lie to him and he wouldn’t know any better, but the truth is that this child, with all his awkward fumbling and his earnest curiosity deserves better.

"An absolute asshole," you say, smiling faintly at a thousand different memories, "and I loved him all the more for it."


	133. Darkleer, endure

**Outtakes from Clad in Green and something Other.**

* * *

 

"Your hair is lovely," Barani says, floating about four feet off the ground and combing her fingers through said hair without a care in the world. "You should do something nice with it," she goes on, and you stare at the words on the page very hard, pretending not to notice whenever her fingers stray too close to the base of a horn. "I wish I had nice hair like this," she says, eventually, and you give up pretenses and sigh, closing the book gently.

You’ve read it enough you know it by heart, since it’s one of very few you have, but when you’re bored enough, it’s nice to pretend you’re reading it for the first time.

"There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your hair," you say, tilting your head back until you can see her and her damnable smile. You sigh again, louder this time. "I used to braid it," you admit, grudgingly and yet somehow not as angry as you think you should be, "when I was younger."

"Oh, a braid would certainly suit you, yes." You brace yourself for the question you know is coming. "May I?"

You sit properly again, and go back to your book, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the warmth in her eyes.

"If you must."


	134. Eridan and Equius, cuddling

**Cuddly Equidan.**

* * *

 

A loud, obnoxious beeping echoed in the block.

"It’s coming in twos," you say, face comfortably tucked on Equius’ shoulder. "I bet’s for you."

In a surprising turn of events, Zahhak doesn’t immediately assume responsibility, instead sinking further down into the sopor, upsetting your perch a little but not bothering to open his eyes.

"Captor does not talk to me," he mutters, "nor do I spend hours antagonizing the man."

"He doesn’t  _beep_  me,” you retort, shifting about to sneak your limbs around his wider frame, anchoring yourself like weed all around him. “He plays  _Glory to the Empress_ when he needs attention. And  _Fucked Over In Starlight_  when he’s pissed.” There’s a suitably confused silence from your kismesis, one that’s distinct enough from sleep to make you sigh. “Songs, Eq. My tablet has ringtones.” The beeping goes on, but all Equius does is slide his arm down your back and let out a thoughtful noise. “I don’t really mind if the ship is on fire, really, I just want the damn thing to shut up.”

The beeping goes on for perhaps ten seconds more, before you snort and start pushing yourself upright.

"Lazy son of a  _mare_ ,” you mutter, stumbling out of the recuperacoon to grope more or less blindly on the nearby table for his damn tablet. “You owe me for this.”

"Aproximately nothing, yes," he purrs,  _purrs_  the absolute shithead, and then rolls over to go back to sleep, as soon as you turn the damn thing off.

"Jerk," you say, with deeply affronted fondness, and saunter over back to squirm under his arm again.


	135. Agness, suffer

**Space Station shenanigans.**

* * *

 

“ _What do you mean you let it out?_ ”

You don’t really register much of the answer as you dash around a corner and down a brightly lit corridor currently completely covered in very familiar lime green slime.

"What do you mean it  _tricked_  you into letting it out, it’s a f _ucking mountain of corrosive slime_ , it’s not like it can talk!”

You slip a bit on the next corner and then decide to use the slime to your advantage by sliding down the corridor towards the main gate towards the central cluster of the station. If the dumb thing makes it into the main cluster, there’s no way some moron at the top isn’t gonna decide to do something stupid, like nuking the entire thing out of existence.

You find your favorite monstrosity roaring at the poor sods stuck guarding the gate, towering above them threateningly.

"Hey!" The thing has the decency to flinch and stop and then flinch again when it sees you. The epicness of the moment is somewhat lessened by the fact your dumbfuck assistant isn’t proficient in slime sliding yet, and instead of stopping gracefully like you did, he goes on sliding until he collides with the monster and comes out its back, before unceremoniously slamming into a wall. "Sweet fucking—You, tank!" The thing gurgles pitifully. You’re not in the mood. " _Now_.” It gurgles some more, before reluctantly slurping its way down the corridor, slinking away with a sulk. You turn to the rest of the trolls present, most of them covered to some degree in bright corrosive slime slowly eating its way through their clothes. “The rest of you, go find a fucking quarantine cell that suits your tastes, we just got netflix on those.”

It’s going to be one of those days, you just know it.


	136. Dualscar and Garfit, snowball fight

**Dualscar gets into a snowball fight with someone.**

* * *

 

"It’s cold," Garfit said, with enough petulance the words came out deadpan.

"I’ve noticed that, yeah," Cronus snarled back, stomping through waist-deep snow and wondering if his fins were going to just freeze and fall off all together. "Thank you for the fucking input, I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"Die, probably," Garfit mused distractedly, floating along behind him, some three feet off the ground. "You have a terrible sense of self-preservation. If you even have one, anyway." He snickered as Cronus walked into a deeper hole, hidden under the snow, and stumbled forward until his feet were kicking in the air. After a moment, Garfit let out a put upon sigh and used his powers to fish the ridiculous moron out of a freezing grave. "Like right now, for example," he went on, just because Cronus started squirming like a worm on a hook, the moment he realized he wasn’t effectively dying anymore. "Gills aren’t good to breathe in snow, dear."

"Put. Me. Down." Said Cronus, grinding his teeth so hard it was a miracle none of them broke. Garfit arched an eyebrow at him, waiting. After a wordless snarl and sheer fury, Cronus relented. " _Please_ ,” he said, gagging.

"Oh, very well," the smaller boy said, with an air of magnanimous graciousness, before unceremoniously letting go of his partner and watching as Cronus plummeted into the snowbank below. "You’re welcome."

There was silence.

"Cronus?"

The silence went on, unruffled.

"You’re not dead," Garfit decided, after another moment, floating himself towards the indent that Cronus’ body left on the snow, "a kraken didn’t kill you, Cronus Ampora, don’t tell me snow will."

The silence, infuriatingly, continued.

But then Garfit peered closer into the hole, and found himself on the receiving end of a snowball. He flung himself back with a squeal, surprised, and then ended up in the snow when Cronus tackled him to the ground, taking advantage of his distraction.

They never found the ruins Taniwa had sent them out to find. They did, however, find hypothermia and its lovely cousin frostbite, mostly because Cronus shoved fistfuls of snow into Garfit’s gills and Garfit decided the reasonable thing to do would be to bring down an entire mountain’s worth of snow in retaliation.


	137. Karkat, hurt for your matesprit

**Eridan, manic, from Karkat's POV: terrifying and endearing both.**

* * *

 

You’re used to the admin trolls in your ship to scurry about all the time, usually with your matesprit cracking a metaphorical whip at them. You’re used to the way Eridan strolls down the corridors like he’s too damn busy to care who owns them, and see a pack of trolls yapping at his heels about this or that, day in, day out, every shift, no matter what.

But he smiles at you, every time he crosses your way in the hallways, and waves sometimes, before disappearing into the maintenance shafts. He has at least one meal with you, every shift, and whenever you troll him in the middle of a meeting because you need some actual intelligent conversation in the face of stupid dumb diplomats being fucking stupid and obnoxious, he always says  _oh god im so glad its you_  and you can hear the sigh of relief when you read it.

When you bite and kick your way out of the medbay, he’s a different person all together. You’re okay and he’s okay, but he’s  _different_  and the entire crew knows it, even if they can’t put their finger on it. His stride is shorter and more frantic, as he prowls the corridors and yells at anything that breathes or moves or both. His hair’s just the slightest bit disheveled. He doesn’t see you, while he goes about commanding his runts into action, and he doesn’t smile at you and he skips his meals with you and one time you wait forty five wretched minutes for a reply before realizing he’s not going to answer at all.

It gets worse.

By the time you reach the station, he’s emaciated and deranged, and the glint in his eye screams highblood massacre waiting to happen, but you don’t know what to do because he’s not Gamzee and you can’t bring yourself to even try and see him like that. So you swallow your pride and bitch Sollux out until he coughs up the names and the trollhandles, and you call up his friends. Because you might hate them unfairly and impersonally for the sheer crime of having fucked your matesprit, but not enough to not remember Eridan sprawled in an obscene pile of limbs and cuddling that oozed enough pale to make you almost forget the fucking bits.

"But you got hurt," he says, when he’s sober and himself and that terrifying glint is gone from his eyes, replaced by the usual dullness that you refuse to question too much these days. "And I didn’t notice."

He’s sitting on the floor by your chair, chin hooked on your thigh and face tilted up for maximum sulking effect. You card your fingers through his hair and refuse to dwell on the sheer adoration with which he looks at you - with which he  _always_  looks at you. 

"Dumbass," you say, with enough pity to power up a sun, "the only one that got hurt was  _you_.”

The look of incomprehension he gives you makes you throb like a raw nerve, with pity and anger and fondness and regret. You promise yourself that, since he’s too damn stupid to see it, you’ll make sure he doesn’t ever hurt like that again. Selfishly, you admit you’re not sure you could survive it.


	138. Eridan and Psii, food

**Outtakes from Later and Before and By Yourself.**

* * *

 

"Apple?" You say, belatedly, and manage through sheer aplomb to not be embarrassed when Psii predictably declines, given you’d already bitten into the juicy fruit. "Bite-free one, I mean."

He shakes his head and you shrug, focusing on chewing rather than facepalming at yourself, once he picks up where he left off.

* * *

 

"I’m pretty sure they aren’t made with real meat," you tug absently at the strip of jerky with a fang. "I mean, you sort of just believe it’s meat and don’t ask too many questions. They’re good enough to entertain mid-shift munchies anyway."

Psii arches an eyebrow that speaks volumes about his thoughts.

* * *

 

"The marrow is the best part!" You insist, though the words come out mangled given you have a chunk of bone between your teeth. 

He doesn’t even try to hide the roll of his eyes, this time.


	139. Arthur, meet your new best friend

**Outtakes from Dragon of the Fringe.**

* * *

 

"Lost?"

You choke on a shriek as the voice, uncomfortably close to your ear, startles you right out of your thoughts. It takes a moment to realize it’s not just your death grip on the railing that’s keeping you from falling off the catwalk, violet light stretching around you and holding you in place despite what physics might say about it.

"Sweet mother grub’s tits, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?" You blurt out, turning to snarl at the source of your latest near-death experience, but you find yourself taken aback by the troll giving you an amused arched eyebrow for your troubles.

It’s Garfit but without the age or the lavish fabrics or the tons of gold. Younger, yes, but also different in a way that’s hard to put to words. The horns might be eerily identical but the small details that set the two apart - a slightly pointer nose, thinner eyebrows, slightly wider jaw - are nowhere as monumental as the glint in his eyes. This not a ghost of Garfit in their younger days, but an entirely different person who happens to look disconcertingly the same.

"Pretty sure you and I crawled out of the same pail, kiddo," this not-Garfit  says, grinning, "so whatever’s wrong with me’s definitely wrong with you too. Also, you look lost."

"Let’s not start on what  _you_  look like,” You snap back, deadpan, before you can help yourself, and for a split second you wonder if your goddamn flapping maw has managed yet again to get you culled, but then the stranger’s face is split by a wide grin that’s eerily reminiscent of one you remember owning at some point in your life, before you fucked everything up.

The realization is two parts creepy, three parts  _weird_.

"Outrageously gorgeous? So handsome it should be a crime?" He finally pulls you back onto the catwalk proper, but you don’t get to relax much once your feet are firmly holding you up because he casually throws an arm around your shoulders, still grinning that same mischievous way that makes you want to squirm. "Mostly I go by Arthur. Been meaning to drop by and say I dig the rings."

You snort before you can help yourself.

"I’d say weird as fuck all," you offer, hiding your awkwardness behind a teasing sneer because this isn’t Garfit, obviously, and you’re not sure where you stand or what you’re allowed to say, but you figure you might as well wing it while you’re under the Admiral’s protection. "Personally."

"Met my Ancestor, haven’t you?" Arthur taunts back, clearly delighted in your willingness to engage. "C’mon, let’s get you un-lost and get something to eat, I’m fucking starving."

You open your mouth to very politely tell him to fuck off when your gastric sack chooses that precise moment to growl loudly at the prospect of food.

"Out of the same pail!" Arthur cackles, dragging you along briskly with the air of someone so used to getting their way the alternative is unthinkable to them. "You and I."

…Karkat is going to have a fit, you think, when you tell him about this.


	140. Agness, cope

**Outtakes from Into The Purple Night Sky.**

* * *

 

"…I think it’s less what you did," you say, at long last, running your fingers through his hair and his ridiculous violet stripe, as he shifts about and curls around you like a purrbeast under a misguided impression about his size. Bizarrely, you wish you could fit him in your lap, if only so you could make him stop looking at you with that heartbroken stare. "And more what it did to you, to have done it."

"I don’t want you hurt," he mutters, face buried into your gut and arms firmly wrapped around your waist. "I’ll fucking—"

"I don’t want you hurt, either," you interrupt, feeling a strange, bubbly feeling in your gut, because you’re quite sure no one’s ever been so viscerally willing to put your wellbeing above someone else’s like this. No one’s ever murdered for your sake, and it’s terrifying and touching and strange, and you want to take it back and you want to never give it up. "So let’s not… hurt, together, okay?" You run a claw along the curve of a horn and he shivers like he’s falling to pieces in your lap and he’s willing to let you put them back together like you please. "C’mon, Princess, let’s not give Russel more ulcers this sweep."

He chokes on a laugh, and you know it’ll be alright, in the long run. And maybe then no one else will have to die, at all.


	141. Karkat, meet Eridan's puppy

**Karkat meeting/seeing Arthur and Eridan together.**

* * *

 

"I expected you to be taller."

Eridan chokes on a cackle, and it doesn’t help that he turns around and buries the desperate sound into Imoogi’s shoulder. You narrow your eyes dangerously, as Imoogi goes on, completely unaware of your reaction, apparently.

"I mean, I knew you were short, but I didn’t know how short was  _short_ , you know?” 

"I don’t think he knows, Art," Eridan slurs at him, still burying his face in his shoulder and clearly trying not to die laughing. He’s doing weird ass things with his v’s and his w’s, though, and that’s how you know he’s so drunk he probably can’t sit up straight anymore. "I don’t think anyone knows."

"I know," Imoogi says, petulant, and tries to poof up arrogantly but only ends up sliding down the wall sideways, dragging Eridan along with him as he goes. "Not sure what I know but I know it ‘cause that’s supposed to be my fucking thing, kinda like being an egregious shithead is being yours."

"Fuck off, bitchface," Eridan snarls at the floor, trying to pick himself up in vain, "I’m a fantastic shithead."

"Cadmus got the bitchface, I got the sneers," Imoogi muses to himself, staring through half-lidded eyes at your shoes. "God, he’s such a nookleak." Then he looks up at you from the floor - and you refuse to think harder about that - squinting. "Thank you for not being a fucking nookleak, Canchellor."

"Chancellor," Eridan quips, giggling.

“‘s what I said,” Imoogi snorts, kicking half-heartedly at him, before turning to you and saluting clumsily, “anyway, ‘d totally murder my brother for you, sir. You’re not a leaking, stuffed nook flap like him.”

Eridan seems to find the proclamation hilarious because he dissolves into a desperate giggling puddle that’s only made worse by Imoogi’s repeated attempts to shut him up.

"I think we’re drunk," Eridan says, once he’s done cackling until he wheezes.

“ _You don’t say_ ,” is all you can muster, torn between finding a chair and waiting it out and going out and getting blissfully drunk yourself.


	142. Equius, warm up to your new head admin

**Agness as new Head Admin of the Morrigan.**

* * *

 

"…what are you doing?" Equius asked, staring in bewilderment at the veritable jungle of multicolored yarn that spread across the block.

"Knitting you a scarf," Agness replied, unruffled, one leg hooked on the armrest of her chair while her hands shifted about in steady, repetitive movements.

"…why?" Equius ventured after a moment, when she didn’t stop and didn’t bother to look up at him.

"Because it’s easier to strangle you with a scarf than with the lapels of the coat I can’t even really reach anyway."

Equius opened his mouth, considered,  _re_ considered, and then closed it without making a sound.

She gave him a nice blue scarf with a white musclebeast pattern that served enough to pacify his outrage the first time she purposely stepped on it and very nearly caused him to trip and fall face first into the floor.


	143. Nepeta, hate the bastard

**Outtake from No Matter What.**

* * *

 

You expected Equius, of course. Eridan was a surprise, almost pleasant at that; it’s always nice to know your moirail’s decision to quadrant himself to the seadweller wasn’t a  _complete_  disaster.

But you weren’t expecting  _Gamzee_.

You weren’t expecting Gamzee with sixteen Subjugglator ships that didn’t so much storm the lunar base as they completely  _obliterated_  it. Equius is still too polite and too servile to demand answers from the Grand Highblood, and Eridan flat out refuses to come out of the tiny ship, but you will damn well get answers, because when Sollux said you were out of time and he was getting people involved in your hunt, you were sure he was going to involve  _Equius_. And sure enough, he told Equius dumb, ridiculous lies and made him undo all your careful work to sabotage the damn station in the first place. Gamzee never even entered into the equation, in your head.

You’re not scared of Gamzee Makara and you will get your answers out of him, and why the hell he showed up ready to fight a war, one way or another.

"He said you were dead," Gamzee purrs, when you’re done bleeding his sides and he’s licking slurry off his lips and his fingers. "He up and motherfucking tried to tell me you were  _dead_.” He giggles as he gathers you up, and you let him because you had to make sure you looked the part well enough to fool Equius, and you’re willing to admit Gamzee won this fight without fighting at all. You shiver as you feel the tip of his bulge worming its way between your thighs, and you hate yourself almost as much as you hate him, because your toes curl slightly at the thought. “So I up and went to see with my own motherfucking ganderbulbs, because a brother be thinking that was a load of shitty lies.”

"And you needed an army for that," you hiss, tauntingly, even as he slides up to the first ridge inside, and your nook tightens as much as possible against his bulge, as if to urge it further in.

You choke on an embarrassing sound when he fingers the cut on your thigh rather roughly, squeezing out blood to the surface.

"Just in case, my pitchest darling bitch," he croons, and you dig in your claws and leave grooves along his arms, "someone had up and taken this motherfucker’s rightful claim to your insipid head, before I’m well and done with you."

He slides further in, and your body shifts obscenely to take it all, and you hate that you can and you hate that you let him and you hate that you want it. You hate the knowledge that he’d avenge you, like you two are something other than a very bad idea hidden behind worst ploys.

"Fuck you, Makara," you hiss, and shift your hips to part your legs further.

"Later," he promises, and you know he’ll deliver and you know you’ll take the offer, when it comes, "when dear, darling Admiral Zahhak is awake, eh? Motherfucking walls be paperthin, around here."

They’re not, and you know it, but it’s still a fight before you let yourself shriek in pleasure, staring at the ceiling you know all too well. In the block next door, Equius rolls around in sopor, terrified and worried, and above all, you hate Gamzee for making you do this to your moirail, even if he’ll never know you’ve done it at all.


	144. Sollux, be surprised

**A time that Sollux, despite everything, was surprised by something.**

* * *

 

Eridan Ampora always manages to surprise you.

You have never really understood how his mind works, or why he does what he does. Not when you were children, not afterwards. You didn’t have any particular fondness for him, during those stressful sweeps leading up to Feferi’s coronation, but after his spectacular meltdown and the ripples that spread out, you used to keep an eye on him when you could, watching sulk about after Karkat, trying to look haughty and dignified and only managing to look pompous and obnoxious. Eridan has always been a creature of whim, doing things - both terrible and kind - just because he felt like it, without any particular coherent structure like pretty much everyone else you know. That’s why Terezi never liked him, you suppose, because she couldn’t really predict what he was going to do and how much would she have to clean up her mess when he did - because god forbid Terezi Pyrope realizes she’s not there to be the goddamn cleanup crew of the universe.

You watched with dumbstruck horror as he committed his greatest fuck up, alienating Feferi and pushing her into a corner until she snapped back with the sheer force she always had had and never chose to use until then. You were a monster, by then, quite capable of keeping an eye on him without neglecting other things, and in the aftermath of his roundabout exile, you made watching him a pastime. You kept expecting him to die, and he didn’t, and he continued to defy reason, time and time again. You watch him be slowly tamed and put back together by a pair of midbloods no one would ever know much about, and amused yourself watching him stumble his way out of the pit of his own doing.

The strange thing, was that over the sweeps, you found yourself more and more amused and less and less annoyed by him, and oddly wishing he’d been like that, before. If he’d been, Feferi would have been spared a good deal of grief, as would’ve been Karkat. You found yourself exasperated by his ability to figure out things just late enough for it to not matter anymore, but unable to resent him too much because the alternative was still worse.

You don’t know why you reach out to him, the way you do. You can’t quite grasp, despite the sheer mental power coursing through your mind, why it delights you when he reacts the way he does. After a while, though, you don’t feel so bad calling the stupid idiot friend, and realize you mean it. You’re used to him being unpredictable and dumb in the most entertaining ways, because they’re harmless in the end and for all he loudly makes a scene, it doesn’t matter at all in the grand scale of things.

…you still trip over several million lines of code, though, when his blathering doesn’t get him smacked across the face with a cane, more so when your Ancestor decides to play along, instead.


	145. Sollux and Eridan, worst best friends

**Sollux and Eridan, hanging out in the bowels of the ship.**

* * *

 

"You could have warned me, you know," Eridan grouses with a sulk as he shoves you hard enough to topple you over as you laugh. "Oh, and by the way, Eri? The Admiral of that massive ship you’re gonna be staying on? Yeah, totally had the hots for your Ancestor and might or might not take interest on you about it. Just a fucking heads up, Sol, like any decent troll might’ve."

"No fucking way, bitchy gills, the look on your face was fucking  _worth_  it.” He makes an annoyed gurgle in the back of his throat and you right yourself up only to lean on his side with a wheezy giggle. “Plus, KK thinking you were going to jump ship was hilarious.”

"You’re a fucking asshole," he sighs and the way his glasses slide down his nose only makes you laugh harder. "I’m going to throw your ass out of an airlock one day, Sol, you fucking shithead."

You finish your beer and let him sulk for a bit before going for round two.

"So?"

"So?"

You grin.

"How hard were you thinking about riding that ancient bulge?" Eridan spits out his beer and very nearly topples off the edge into the abyss below. "I mean, after you quadranted my Ancestor, I know you have a thing for older types. Should I tell KK to get his shit together before you leave him to fill in Dualscar’s shoes? Or are you more interested in the newer version? I admit I wouldn’t mind a threesome with those two. You’re cozy up with the brat, how about you talk him into it, eh?"

"I’m going to throw myself out of an airlock," Eridan whines, putting his face in his hands so you can’t see how hard he’s flushing, "so I don’t have to keep hearing this."

"Well if you aren’t ever gonna consider my offers, I’m gonna start looking elsewhere for my threesome needs."

“ _I hate you so much_ ,” he snarls, and then waits a beat before adding, “platonically, you fucking asshole.  _Platonically_.”


	146. Terezi, deal with the pirate

**Terezi and Glydan, pirate.**

* * *

 

"Pirate," she hisses with a leer, half an insult and half a compliment.

You grin at her.

"You’re not  _wrong_ , exactly,” you laugh, leaning the rifle over your shoulder, “but trust me, you’ll be glad it was me who found you, m’lady.”


	147. Glydan, play nice with the lady

**Glydan and Terezi, blindness.**

* * *

 

"Are you really blind?" It’s a rude thing to ask, honestly, but you can’t help but squint as you watch her navigate the obstacles around your personal quarters.

"Rude!" She laughs, coming to seat on a chair near the recuperacoon. "I am, Mr. Pirate."

"Yeah?" You tilt your head to the side, coming to sit next to her. "What happened to your ey—"

You don’t see her move. The next thing you know you’re lying on your back on the floor and she’s sitting on your chest, pressing a blade to your throat. You’re not quite scared, but mostly surprised at the efficiency of her movements.

"Stared at the sun too long," she grins, and then leans in to lick your face. You make a disgruntled sound in the back of your throat and risk shoving her off your person with a little psionic nudge. It only makes her snicker as she regains her balance, blade swinging at her side. "What happened to  _your_  eye, Mr. Pirate?”

"I thought I’d be a Lord one day," you snort, wiping spit off your face. You smile at her, mimicking the feral width of her grin, baring your teeth. "Lord Imoogi was kind enough to disabuse me of that notion."


	148. Shaula and Camila, meetings

**Shaula and Camila meet.**

* * *

 

"I want you to come with me."

You look up - and then down - and find a chubby little brat staring at you with mismatched eyes. She’s very obviously not wearing a uniform denoting rank, which means she’s a deserter. Which makes it suicide for her to be talking to you at all, because you’re very much wearing the garb of your trade. You shift, folding your legs and placing your hands on your knees almost as a sign of peace.

"And why is that, girl?"

"Name’s Shaula," she smirks, lopsided and mismatched, like her horns. "Shaula Serket. Not girl. And I want you to come with me, because I need you."

You tilt your head to the side, dreadlocks rustling and making the small bones in them clink together as you move. She’s brave and reckless and possibly very stupid, but there’s something whimsical about her that you like. It smells like fate.

"With what?"

"I need your authorization code to bypass the last line of the Imperial blockade," she says it so candidly, like she’s not confessing more and more crimes, all of which are enough on their own to get her culled on the spot.

"Why?"

"Because no one’s ever crossed the Void Belt before!" She says this in a tone that implies this is some kind of childish imposition, instead of near dogmatic truth. "And that’s fucking stupid, so I’m gonna be the first."

"You need a ship, for that," you don’t mention everything else one would need, to commit suicide that elaborately, because you want to taste the waters, try and get the hang of that small hint of destiny that’s making you want to scratch the rough scarring along your ribs.

"Already got one." She arches an eyebrow. "Just need a crew." There’s nothing just, about that. In any sense of the word. It makes you grin a little, nonetheless, the way she says it. "So what about it, you in?"

"Maybe," you grin and stand up, towering above her as your hair sways and your bone ornaments clink and your heavy robes rustle ominously. You bleed fear into the block, and she sways in place but doesn’t back down. You’re old enough now, to make up for how weak your powers really are. "If you give me one good enough reason to follow you, instead of culling you like it’s my Messiah’s given right."

The girl, Shaula, smiles, even as her skin breaks into goosebumps and her entire body is drenched in cold sweat.

"Sure," she laughs. Absently, you decide she has a nice laugh, like a folded scream turned twice over. "You don’t have anything better to do."

There’s a moment of silence, as you try, you really do, to keep the giggling in. But it claws its way up your throat and soon enough you’re slumping on the floor, cackling for all you’re worth. The fear melts away, but the rest of the patrons of the bar are all passed out anyway.

"I’m taking that as a yes," she says, with a smirk you think you could get used to.

"Aye, Captain," you croon, because there’s fate swirling around, and you can taste the whim of the Messiahs under your tongue. "Aye."

"Captain," she mutters, almost to herself, for a moment revealing the truth depth of her childishness. "Captain Serket," she tries again, tilting her head to the side, before giving you a truly mirthful smile. "I like the sound of that."


	149. The Imoogi Clade, Janitors of the Fringe

**Garfit's Children, Janitors of the Fringe.**

* * *

 

"El, El!" Arthur rushed after Elliot, trotting to keep up with his longer stride, "C’mon, man, don’t be a friggin’ bitchface about this! You owe me for this!"

"Control your brother," Elliot muttered with a snort, passing by the armchair where Glydan was slumped in a mess of limbs, snatching the bottle of wine off his hand.

"Respect your elders, Arthur," Glydan slurred without much conviction, hand pressed over his face as he grinned. "You’ll give your brother another ulcer."

"Oh sure," the youngest snorted, sidestepping a pile of books under which Denzel might or might not be buried under. "I will when I find elders worth respecting."

"I resent that," Howell hissed with a disdainful sniff, curled up into a ball in a corner of the couch, fingering a tablet almost nervously. "I deserve respect."

"You resemble the remark, more like," Glydan sneered, flicking a finger and causing the tablet in Howell’s hands to slip off his grip with just the barest crackle of violet light. "And you deserved to be euthanized, after that bloody stupid stunt you pulled."

"Says the troll who lost a third of his fleet to that dumb plague," Denzel snorted, without coming out of his cocoon of books.

"Funny you wanna talk about fuckups, because at least I’m not the dumbfuck idiot sitting on his fat useless ass all day, wailing about some inbred backwards cult bullshit about the end of the fucking universe."

"Oh ho ho," Elliot cooed, shoving Arthur’s attempts to snatch off his husktop, and scooting forward to watch his siblings fight. "Half a bottle of Lord Taniwa’s plum wine that our lovely cultist nutjob gets his ass kicked."

"Yeah, what are you gonna bet on next?" Howell sneered, leaning back to avoid getting smacked as Elliot and Arthur half murdered each other on their own, as well. "That water’s wet?"

The fight deflated pretty quickly when Cadmus entered the room. He was the Heir, after all. One day, one day that seemed to be coming closer, they’d bow their heads and call him Lord.

"Enough," he said, mouth tugging sideways into a lopsided sneer. "Ladies, you’re all pretty. But we have a problem." Imoogi didn’t have problems. Imoogi had… situations that needed handling. Messes that needed cleaning. Never _problems_. Cadmus’ sneer turned predatory. “Lord Imoogi just won the war, they’re signing the surrender treaty in the glassbox as we speak.”

"You know, I might be getting dumb in my old age," Howell snapped, one eyebrow arched, "but since when is winning a war a bad thing?"

"Since the war was all that was keeping us in the Fringe anyway," Glydan replied, before Camus could, and it was probably for the best, because at least Glydan could grin about it, however grimly. "We’re going back to the Inner Rim, Lord Imoogi must swear to the new Empress."

"Kid’s had forty sweeps to do her thing," Elliot mused as he winced, "at least she had her fun before the party crashed and burned."

"You’re not trying to imply they’d take the  _Deathfowl_  into the Inner Rim,” Arthur stared at them, from one to the other, all older and experienced and certainly more keenly aware of the potential disaster hanging over their heads.

"The beginning of the end," Denzel said, with grim satisfaction, but everyone ignored him because he deemed a new ‘beginning of the end’ every third shift.

"Well," Howell smiled, hollowly, "there’s always a chance that Lord Imoogi will approve of the Empress and her ragtag of lowlife pet projects."

"Yeah right," Arthur snapped, just a tad bitterly, "friggin’ dumbfuck wrigglers have been running the Empire while they’ve been twisting into knots to fight wars and not offend the new Empress, Lord Imoogi will be positively fucking _thrilled_.”

"So what do we do?" Glydan asked, a little hurriedly, before Howell could really get his ranting going, staring straight at Cadmus and his thin-lipped smirk.

"What we always do," their eldest, soon to be Lord, said, with a faint shrug, "we watch, we listen, we serve, we obey, and above all, we endure."

At dinner, they sat in their respective places and acted sufficiently surprised, when Lord Imoogi informed them of the inevitable arrival of the High Chancellor and his ship. They looked at each other and smiled and shrugged and sneered and knew right from the start that whatever went down, they wouldn’t have a hand in the making, but the clean up would be all theirs, as always.


	150. Psii, comfort the brat

**Psii comforting Arthur before he's turned into a helmsman.**

* * *

 

"All I’m saying is that you don’t need to be here."

"Being scared is not a crime. Company makes it easier to bear."

"I’m not scared, okay? Lord Imoogi angry at me would scare me. One of my brothers deciding they don’t like my work would scare me. Puny engineer with an scalpel and some metal scraps definitely doesn’t scare me."

"No, but you know it’s going to hurt."

"I’m not scared of hurting!"

"You’ve never been scared of hurting because you’ve always been able to get even with anyone who does hurt you, few as they might be. You’re scared because you told them to do this and there won’t be anyone to get back at when it’s over."

"Okay just, shut up, and let them just put the fucking ports on me. It can’t be that bad."

"Well, it did use to be worse, so at least there’s that."


	151. Equius, despair at Captor's habits

**Bubblegum**.

* * *

 

"There’s a short here," Equius says, with the put upon, tired voice of someone who doesn’t want to deal with all the bullshit the world insists on piling on him, "The entire wiring will need to be—"

"Chill," you snort, spitting out the gum into your fingers and grinning when it makes him recoil in disgust, "it’s not that terrible."

"That is wholly unhygienic," he snarls, awkward, as you dive into the jungle of wires and pop the gum around the one bit of peeled cable giving you a headache. "Not to mention—"

"Chill," you repeat, pulling yourself back once the wiring’s patched, "it’ll hold for a while. It’s going to be my body in there, not yours," you arch an eyebrow at him, "I can handle it."

He makes a noise of frustration between his teeth, before turning around pointedly to not look at you. You shrug to yourself and pop another bit of gum into your mouth. At this stage, there ought to be a good deal of shorts that need some patching, and despite what Equius might want to believe, you don’t have the time or the resources to rewire the entire gig every time you find one.


	152. Glydan, watch your brother die

**Langour**.

* * *

 

"You go, I’ll stall them," Howell hisses, taking a deep breath and shoving his coat off his shoulders. " _You_  have to go.”

 _You’re not disposable_ , he doesn’t say, but Glydan understands as his brother stares pointedly at the woman unconscious in his arms. He wishes dearly he didn’t, but he does. He reaches out to grab his brother’s arm, at the elbow, holding on tight. He remembers Howell, all of six sweeps old, wearing the worst of his pirate rags and reciting old laws with a slow, pompous undertone that didn’t quite manage to mimic Cadmus’ properly. He remembers Howell, twisting his nose at diplomacy and war and everything, hopelessly unwilling to take a stand. Glydan knew the look Lord Imoogi gave him, because it was the same look they gave him too: you’re good, oh so good, but not good enough to be a Lord.

 _He’s not even a thousand sweeps old_ , Glydan thinks, guns in his hands as he runs down the hangar towards the ship.  _He’s just a kid_.

The screaming and the shooting are muted as the air is filled with burnt ozone and violet light consumes the hangar and the trolls in it. He stops at the last step up the ladder, holding onto the doorway and looking back to see the light fade and the world reduced to silence. He could swear there was the ghost of a dragon, outlined in violet flame as the first onslaught of rebels was obliterated to nothing.

But then there was silence, and he knew his brother was gone.


	153. Equius, fall in love

**Effervescent.**

* * *

 

He wakes up when she stumbles out of the recuperacoon, half stepping on him. Through the fog of sleep and irritation, he’s taken by the intense look on her face, as she tracks sopor all the way to his desk and rummages around until she has a pen in her hand.

It takes him a little longer to wake up completely, for his pan to reboot and start running like it should, and in those precious seconds before it happens, he’s assaulted by the way slime rolls down the curve of her back, around the metal rings where the biowires fit. She’s tall and lean, like a brush stroke, but then he gathers his wits and he forgets how to think poetry about her.

"I figured it out," she says, grinning with a manic tilt, words slurred together in their hurry to get out of her mouth, " _I figured it out_.”

So he lets himself track sopor all the way to his desk and stand next to her, not touching, because that might break the tenuous thread of inspiration, but close enough to breathe the same air and read over her shoulder, her own brand of poetry in equations and long strings of code.

He watches her work and remembers, for the first time in forever, that this is what being love feels like.


	154. Sollux, lie

**Betrayal.**

* * *

 

"Sollux."

He knew it was coming. He knew it was coming from the moment Karkat realized what he already knew, but even as he braced himself, he knew he wasn’t ready to deal with it.

"Something the matter?" He asked, as if he didn’t know, because he was missing the key elements to piece together the mystery, and Eridan was still his friend.

Eridan was his friend.

He repeated the words, echoing inside his skull and reverberating along the millions of circuits that made up his mind, and he found his palms sweaty and his knees wobbling.

"Where is he," Karkat didn’t ask, didn’t even demand, because he didn’t want an answer, didn’t want to break down and cry all over again.

Sollux closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Any answer he gave would be a lie, and that was the thing, wasn’t it? The right choice was also the wrong one, if looked at from the right angle. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but two rights do make a wrong, sometimes.

"He’s with Equius," Sollux lied, smiling wryly as Equius stepped through the door, the look on his face demanding the same answers he was loathe to give. "Maybe not."

And he wished so intensely to have never been Eridan’s friend, to have never let himself care, because now he had to convince himself he had been the one betrayed, rather than the other way around.


	155. Vriska, diplomacy

**Confusion.**

* * *

 

She knew things were going to go south from the moment she stepped into the block. She had a sixth sense for these things. That’s why she was the best, because she could walk into a stuffy cell disguised as a reception block and feel the air vibrating under her tongue, the snide whispers echoing between her ears, and she  _knew_.

She felt absolutely no remorse when she reached a tendril of her mind into the guard standing by the door, because he was going to shoot her in the back before she could put her pen on the paper, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

She wasn’t going to give any of them the satisfaction.

The guard took his weapon, which wasn’t strictly speaking a gun, but if it quacked like a duck and looked like a duck, who was she to not call it a duck? The guard took his weapon and shot two warning shots between the arc of her horns, just barely upsetting her hair, and then the slimy, fat alien beast in front of her wheezed and died messily over his spilled out guts.

And then people started yelling and screeching and soldiers got antsy and tense.

Beneath her hair, the scar on her face ached a little as her mind stretched and pulled and twisted, and the puppets danced to her tune while she slipped back to her ship and told Her Imperious Pain-In-The-Butt that things had gone south, with a straight face and a smug smile.

And then she gave the order and the planet full of slimy fat alien beasts was slanted for destruction, and no one could look at their ugly ass faces and feel sorry about it.

Sometimes she thought Captor knew, because Captor was annoying that way, but he had nothing to prove it, if he did know, and so far she got the results they needed, whether they wanted to admit it or not. And if she needed confusion to get her way, well, it was all for the sake of the greater good, so no big deal.


	156. Sollux, /b/

**4chan.**

* * *

 

The hardest part is to let fuck ups happen.

He did all this because he was supposed to make things better. You were young and dumb, when you laid back on a metal slab and let Zahhak cut up your soul into tiny flakes to sprinkle all over the goddamn Empire. You were young and dumb and thought this would really make a difference.

And it did, in a way, but not the way you’d hoped.

You thought it’d be different, then. You thought you’d sit there and stop the bad from happening. That somehow you knowing would make it stop. Bad shit happens all the time, still, the only difference is that every crime has a key witness, every bit of greed and violence and hate has a silent onlooker.

And the worst part isn’t looking, per se. The worst part is standing there and letting it happen. Every time something goes south, and you let it because trolls aren’t children. They aren’t invalids who need someone to think and act for them. They make their own damn choices and need to have some measure of control in their own lives. Feferi wants to tear down the Empire, inside out, and teach her subjects to embrace their own freedoms, but with that comes letting them do with that freedom whatever they want, not just what you think is right.

And you hate every festering second of it, which is why you dig into the recesses of their newfound freedoms, the corners where they talk and brag and gloat about what they’ve done now. The bits where they show they’ve adapted to the new status quo by virtue of forgetting anything else ever existed. They joke and laugh and go on, unaware that you’re there, watching. Terezi says you ought to let them tie the noose around their necks on their own, but deep down you want to stop them. Deep down you look at the porn and the bad jokes and the political fights and wish more than anything that you could just take it all away if only to make the rest of the horrors stop as well.

And then you gather yourself, stop being sentimental, and flood a sector with funny alien fauna pictures and ridiculous misfacts that get quoted over and over again until you’ve birthed sixteen new urban legends in an hour.

And you feel better, a little, and you feel worse, sometimes, but it’s all you’ve got, so you roll with it and figure so long as you can make someone laugh, you don’t have to pull the plug on the whole Empire all at once.


	157. Equius, miss your moirail

**Food.**

* * *

 

Every now and then, you find yourself staring at your plate and smiling absently as you think about your moirail. You remember being four and awkward, completely blown away by your feelings and your expectations, and puking all over yourself when you saw Nepeta disembowel a kill the first time.

You never really ate meat again, after that, even when you got your head out of your big pompous behind and figured out why she did it. You just couldn’t stop thinking about the blood and the stench and Nepeta’s solemn frown as she fought harder to piece her prize than to kill it.

You think about the past often, now, the whole seasons she’d spend prowling about your hive and the extensive grounds surrounding it, the constant worry that Vriska would take her despite her promises, the long, cold winters sitting on rugs you had had the displeasure of seeing before they became rugs.

She was happy, then. You think you were as content as you were capable of.

Killing things and respectfully using them up to the last scrap, for meat and clothes and toys and paint and all sorts of things you never really thought too hard about. You offered her better things, better food, until you grew up enough to understand she didn’t want it because she was stubborn, but because she needed to be respectful. She needed to care for her prey or else her hunt would be tainted. And even back then, as stupid and blind and cowardly as you were, you didn’t dare suggest she gave up the hunt.

You poke at your salad, lost in thought, and wonder if wherever she is, she looks at her food and thinks of you. She probably does. She probably giggles to herself about how silly you are. You would, too, if giggling were within the realm of possible noises your throat can produce.

You hope she’ll come home soon enough.


	158. Aradia, love Equius without loving him

**Interdicted.**

* * *

 

She watches him, sometimes. She remembers him, from the times he wasn’t there, the lives they didn’t have. It’s her burden to bear and she bears it willingly. She bent over her neck and took the yoke with more cheerfulness than all of the others combined. It wasn’t slavery, to her, it was answers. Power. An exit.

He would have tried to cage her, if given half the chance, just like he tried to cage everyone he ever cared about. Put a leash on her and decorate the bars with gold and silver, while he fumbled with the flowcharts that planned out their lives. She’d be the brief and terrible indulgence of his youth, until he grew to know better and thought of her long after she died, like a fond memory that didn’t really matter in the long run.

He would have hurt her, if she’d let him. And she would have let him, because to love is to bare the neck, to take the hits chin tilted up and not hesitate to give them back. He’d have hurt her, and she would have destroyed him so thoroughly no speck would be left behind, and it would have been all in such good fun, all in the most tender intent, it would have been unbearable.

She looks at him, through him, and she knows deep down there’s a man she could love and cherish buried somewhere in there, but the crust around it would break her hands before she could peel it back even a little. So she made the choice to step back, to let what-ifs remain what-ifs forever, because he didn’t have the decency to be self-aware yet. It wasn’t meant to be, and it’d be best if it never happened, and once she was gone, when reality writhed at her fingertips and her masters crooned sweet nothings in her ears, she decreed it over before it ever began.

It’s for the best, anyway. He didn’t know her, didn’t want to know her, not the way she wanted to know him. She was done being the stepping stone in a highblood’s narrative, promoted by the Powers That Be to shepherd of Time and Lost Causes instead. She’s not a little girl anymore, dreaming of adventures and having someone along for the ride. She’s never been naive, so she’s not bitter about it.

She forbid it, on her own, so there’s no one else to police her sighs and her thoughts, when they wander aimlessly back to those sincere proclamations she heard only because he didn’t know she was there. And it was cute, and it was sweet and it was exactly what she didn’t need, so she melted away through the cracks in reality and went to work, because it was for the best that in this life, and not all the others they could have had, she never gave him a chance to ruin her thoughts of him.


	159. Garfit, hate your matesprit

**Scars.**

* * *

 

He’s not drunk, exactly, when it happens. He likes to joke he’s genetically immune to alcohol, by virtue of Taniwa’s genes. But he’s not quite there, when Cronus pushes him down and presses the knife on his skin. He’s not cattle, he means to say, to be marked this way. He’s not a thing to be owned and tagged with an owner’s sign. But he lays still, as the blade carves off chunks of skin into a familiar pattern and the first thing that comes to mind is the fact he’s so grateful Cronus’ sign has no curves in it.

He rubs sand into it, once it’s done, if only to make sure it scars, to ensure the declaration of war remains long after the intent is gone.

He’s not kind, when it’s his turn with the knife. He picks a forearm, and Cronus sneers because he understands the meaning of the slight. He brands him like a slave, because that’s what they are, both of them, beneath the empty pleasantries and the nonsense they like to ignore. He rubs sand on that wound, too, and bites Cronus’ chin when he whines about the sting.

There’s no name for what they are, except unsightly and unbecoming. Taniwa will be mad, when he sees the scar, and he will, because he is the Dragon Lord and it’s his business to see everything, but most of all that which one wants him not to see. It’s painful and brutal and terrible, and Garfit reaches for the bottle again, to take a swing and then pour the remaining contents on the scars, to make them burn the way they’ve always done.

It’s just the language they speak, violent and pure, and he must be drunk, because no matter how much he thinks about it, he can’t quite bring himself to feel regret.


	160. Dolorosa, mourn

**Regret.**

* * *

 

It would be better, if they mistreated you. You would welcome the bite of a whip or the burn of the irons. But she knew that, when she looked at you, she knew pain and suffering would only make you stronger, in the long run. And then the snake at her side, the vicious monster that brought Mituna to his knees and forced him to watch as your child died, whispered to her ear to stay her hand and not give you the blessed release of death, when Meulin’s escape made her rage rival her moirail’s.

She poisoned your life with hers and put thick metal rings around your wrists so you’d know your place, but made them gold, almost like jewels, one last mockery to your pain. Then you became a thing not even worth the effort to hurt, passed on to him and then to his monsters-in-training.

It would be better, if they hurt you. It would be better, if they made you bleed.

Instead Garfit spends obscene amounts of time and resources clothing you in the latest fashions, making you into something pretty he can look at while you bring meals to the study or the library.

Instead Cronus looks at you like a puzzle he doesn’t know where to start solving, talking at you like you’re a convenient troll-shaped mirror he can bounce off his ideas on, because he knows better than to try.

It would be better if they chained you in a dungeon, instead of letting you roam the castle that serves as their seat of power, running errands like a maid. It would be better if you didn’t live on, night after night, as the rest of the servants die off, blessed by the brevity of their blood, while you remain. It would be better if they weren’t almost gentle with you, Garfit politely softspoken in his orders and Cronus almost awkwardly apologetic in his demands.

You waltz through the remains of your life, wrapped in fine silk and unequivocally a slave to the greatest cruelty the Empress can conceive, her poisonous kindness to make sure you remember, long after the rebellion has failed and your son’s name has been irrevocably lost under the prohibitions around his doctrine.

It would be better if you couldn’t remember, but it wouldn’t be torture otherwise.


	161. Aradia, make her pay

**Excessively.**

* * *

 

Your first mission - your real mission, not the orders you obey as part of the bargain - is to find Terezi, thrown on the grass, slowly festering under the onslaught of the sun. You are blanketed by the shadows beyond the Veil, so when you tear reality to make a doorway, you don’t feel the sting of the sun threatening to eat through your skin, because something far worse has already corroded it.

You reach for the unconscious girl and pull her into your arms with a soft smile, then let space melt before your eyes as you cross the world in a heartbeat and find yourself floating high above Sollux’s hivestem. You have fond memories of the place, and you know those memories will never come back, as soon as you step down and knock on his door. It’s rather mundane, to knock, when you could just rip reality some more and come in uninvited. But Sollux deserves better, he above everyone else, for all he’s grieved and all he’ll sacrifice, when the time is right.

Later, when he’s passed out under the strain of seeing you and processing what has been done to his moirail, you finger his hair and wait for Terezi to wake up.

"You have a choice," you say, when she startles back into awareness, reaching out to keep her from clawing at her ruined eyes. "We all do, really, but you have a choice to make, right now, and it’s very important that you make it. Now."

"Who are you?" She demands, baring her teeth in the general direction of your voice, wrenching her arm away from you.

"No one," you reply, unable to bite back a giggle because that is exactly who you are, and that’s precisely what makes you so dangerous in the long run. "No one in particular, here to offer you revenge, if you want it."

"What if I don’t?" She sneers, brow furrowed in thought, because she’s sly and cunning and she knows now everything has a price. "What if I want you to leave me alone?"

"Then I will," you shrug, though she can’t see it, but you hope it’s conveyed in your tone. "We’re at Sollux’s place, I figured if you didn’t want revenge, you’d want to stay here, instead. Be safe."

There’s a long silence, as the pieces fall into place and she puzzles out the situation. You can tell when her thoughts turn to Vriska, as her lips bare her teeth in a feral snarl.

"And if I do want revenge?"

You smile.

"Last one pays for all," you say, reaching out to pat her hand, ignoring the way she pulls back when you do. "It’ll be the end, for you both, and I’ll take you home to sort out yourself on your own."

"I don’t want her dead," Terezi replies, cautiously, "I want her to—"

"Her life isn’t yours to take, not even for your eyes," your voice is sharp, far sharper than you meant it to be. Terezi’s mouth thins into a flat line. "Last one pays for all, forgiveness or revenge, you have a choice to make, but it must be made  _now_.”

You knew what was coming, because of what you’ve become. You knew, but it still made you grin, watching Terezi gather herself, tilting her chin back.

"Make her pay."

And so you do.


	162. Agness, butt heads with the stubborn mule

**Schadenfreude.**

* * *

 

"Give it up," you say, almost kindly, as you arch an eyebrow at your Captain, "you can’t handle it."

Zahhak has the decency to blush, so you resist the urge to reach out and pinch his cheeks.

"I hardly think you’d know—"

"Russel couldn’t handle it, Boss," you laugh a little as he splutters, both at the nickname and yet another reminder that his beloved head admin was nothing of what he imagined, "and we’re talking about  _Russel_.”

"I don’t doubt Admin Zephyr’s prowess," he replies, prim and proper, or at least trying to, given how flustered he looks, "but I doubt—"

"Is it truthbomb time?" You arch an eyebrow at him, grinning wryly because he flinches away almost as if struck. "Yeah, it’s truthbomb time. You hate my best friend, god only knows why. He even hates you back. You two are kinda gross, with how politely black you are, most of the time. I don’t think you’ve ever tried to kill each other, it’s amazing. So don’t fuck it up. Remember that thing I told you to stop doing? Sabotaging yourself? Yeah, this is one of those times." He has the gal to look contrite. "He  _will_  kill you, if you interrupt him during an audit. Fuck, I’ll help him hide the body.”


	163. Terezi, be the pirate lady

**Association.**

* * *

 

"…what the actual fuck are you doing here?"

You grin at the words, taking a long, loud sniff to make the picture crisp, as Glydan Imoogi stomps over to where you are.

"I did promise," you say, tilting your head to the side as he twitches. "I got my affairs in order."

"This isn’t a  _game_ ,” he hisses, leaning in to try and cower you, so you poke him in the gut with the tip of your cane - the non-blade tip, that is, since you do owe him your life after all.

"No, Mr. Pirate King," you leer, "this is  _research_.” You pause dramatically, enjoying the way he fumes in annoyance. “Unless of course you’ve decided to go back on your word.”

He actually sparks at that. It’s awfully cute.

"How long?" He demands, fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly in agitation.

"Oh, not too long." You shrug. "A century or two, at most."

He breathes through his teeth, fins flaring at each side of his face. After a moment, he nods jerkily and shoves a hand at your face. You take it without fuss, gripping tight enough to be a threat.

"Welcome aboard, I guess."

"Aye," you taunt, wiggling your eyebrows as he pulls his hand back, as if scalded, " _Captain_.”


	164. Arthur, be suicidal

**Arthur being  a stupid, stupid idiot.**

* * *

 

 _ **A̡̺͇̗̹̗͍͈̱͗̏̾̒͌̑̈̓̌͝ͅr̨̛̖͓̥̬̳͇͖̘͎͊̒͌̆͂͊̂̏̓ẗ̡̥̙̦͓̖̘̙̰̟͊͗͆̋́̎̌͗̏h̙̪̤̜̬͈̼͈̰̼͑͑̽̐͛͌̒͊̌̒ṳ̧̟̲̫̦̖͚̲͑͗̎̍̔̍̍̾̋͜͠r̡̫̳͙̞͉̥̬͆̀̆̇̊͂̓̅͋̈́ͅͅ ̧̨̙̱͈͍̻̖̟̠̋̔̓͗͊̌͋͗͛͠Į̧̘̰͕̘̗̫̗̈́̑̉̆́̈̆͠͝͠ͅṃ̢̮͙͕̻͓̙̦̺́̇̃́̀͋̾̏̑͠ơ̧͎̥͔͚̠̯̜̙̝̊͊͒́̌͌̂͘͝ǫ͔͓͕̲͚̟̣̪͈͐́̇̾̍̎̊̂̉͘g̢̡̰̗͎̥̱͖̫̔̈́̽̍͊͂̊̇̈́̚ͅį̡͕̪̟̬͉̟̲͆̌̉̓̑̊̽̾͘̕͜**_.”

.

Arthur closed his mouth and slowly edged aside to hide behind Cadmus and Psii and most specially Karkat.

"…I did not think this through," he squeaked, as Eridan stalked into the block, all eight angry feet of him, eyes a molten red that heralded genocide was in his thoughts. "I so did not think this through," he swallowed hard and pushed past his wall of bodies - Cadmus grunted, Psii scoffed and Karkat squawked - grinning as wide as he could, "Eri! How’s it—"

“ ** _You_**.” Eridan hissed, not even raising his voice. “You got my admins drunk.”

"—going…" Arthur swallowed hard. "Well, you know, too much stress is bad for—"

"You got my admins drunk  _the shift before an audit_.”

"Oh dear, I’m talking, aren’t I?"

"You got my admins drunk the shift before an audit  _after I explicitly told you not to_.”

"I’m just. Going to shut my maw now and cringe back and hopefully—"

"You got my admins drunk the shift before an audit after I explicitly told you not to  _with booze from my personal reserve_.”

"…well, they work hard, I wasn’t going to give them  _shit booze_.”

Eridan’s screech went from bloodcurdlingly homicidal straight into supersonic. The glasses on the table shattered. Psii swayed in place, wincing. Cadmus held his head in pain. Karkat covered his ears with his hands.

"…holy shit, my throat," Eridan grunted after a moment, rubbing around the neck gills.

"It was probably all that screaming, that can’t be good for you," Arthur pointed out helpfully, then shrank back as Eridan glared at him. "…I’m still talking aren’t I?"


	165. Alston, pass on the torch

**The First Lord Imoogi and the First Dragon Lord.**

* * *

 

"But she killed our Empress!"

Lord Imoogi smiles, a languid, knowing smile that gives you pause. You’ve known your Ancestor all your life, from the moment you crawled out of the caves, he was there, standing by your lusus, waiting. He has guided you and taught you and cared for you not unlike a lusus would, but also with a sense of purpose that cemented your place in life. You are who you are because he has shown you the way and you trust him more than you trust yourself.

"No," he says, kind, despite it all, with the same kindness that lets him mingle with peasants and beggars far easily than with Lords and commanders, the kindness that taught you how to kill so you’d know better than to do it. "She is the Empress,  _your_  Empress.” You reach out to hold him, but he steps back, and fear begins to crawl under your skin at the implications of his words. “A new Empress, who will need a new Lord Imoogi to serve her and guide her, and in the darkness, tame her.”

"I am not ready to be Lord," you whisper, swaying on your feet, "I am too young, too inexperienced, I wouldn’t even know where to start.  _I’m not ready_.”

"You’ll never be," he laughs, shrugging. "That doesn’t matter. It’s time, and I must go. You are Lord Imoogi, hatched and raised to serve the Empress and the Empire the only way we know how, loyally."

"You cannot leave," you snarl, stepping forward when he steps back, "You cannot—"

But then you stop because his eyes are kind, kinder than ever, even as reality screams and melts behind him, and a troll of myth emerges from the Darkness in the rips, wands held loosely in one hand and lips curled around a pipe.

"It’s time," he repeats, with a helpless little shrug, not even flinching when the Handmaid leans against his back, "I have to go."

"Why?" You whisper, not really expecting an answer, as he begins to drip away, dragged back to wherever she came from.

"Because I made a promise, too," and he laughs, that spiteful cackle that made his enemies fear him, and that’s the last thing you remember of him, the mocking laughter and the bitter glee, "so that the throne may always sit in the Dragon’s jaws."

No one sees Alston Imoogi again, after that night. No one looks for him, but no one questions your claim to his title either. Not even the Empress. Your Empress.

The First Lord Imoogi was ruthless and deadpan and too honest to be loved. You strive, instead, to be kind and generous and comforting, as you help the Empire mourn their First Empress and warm up to the Second. They call you a dragon, in mockery, those who still remember the battle that gave your predecessor his name. Out of spite, you honor your heirlooms and embrace it with pride.

After all, only a fool would quarrel with dragons.

You are kind and loving and gentle, but a dragon in the end, and they learn to fear your kindness almost as much as they fear the Empress’ grace. It is your kindness that creates a myth, and because you know it is a myth, you make sure you build foundations irreparably bound to it, so that millennia in the future, the throne remains in the Dragon’s jaws, and Lord Imoogi has a prophecy to guard and guide his steps, in absence of a drunken vagrant Lord who told stories about Witches and Monsters and Pacts and Adventure, who loved the Empress like no one else could, and who vanished into nothing, the night his beloved died.

You are the first Dragon Lord, but you know, in your soul, that you’ll never be the _true_  Dragon on whose jaws the throne sits.


	166. Dualscar and Garfit, conspire

**Dualscar and Garfit conspire together.**

* * *

 

"I don’t feel stupid enough yet, so I figure I should ask, do you have any idea why we’re here?" Cronus squinted somewhat, twitching under the glare of the sun leaking through the canvas serving as tenuous shade, and curled his toes somewhat as he turned to Garfit with a sigh. "Besides slow roasting in the sun?"

The raft swayed gently in the waves, caught adrift in the surf. It was surprisingly sturdy, considering how feeble it looked, barely a collection of planks with a tented roof to prevent them from dying from exposure too soon. They didn’t really have supplies, though it wasn’t so bad, taking a deep dive in the late evening and find something reasonably edible swimming below. The real enemy was the sun and the heat and the fact they couldn’t risk sleeping, as the lack of sopor would only mean violent nightmares and the risk of falling off in the middle of a twitching fit.

Garfit rolled onto his stomach, hands folded over his head.

"Lord Imoogi is going to war," he sighed, knowing that didn’t really clarify anything, considering Lord Imoogi was always at war, somehow. "I reckon he wants us to do our part."

"By being kraken bait?"

Garfit congratulated himself for being the bigger person, when he successfully resisted the urge to kick Cronus off the raft for that remark. He didn’t like krakens. At all. And then he digested the conversation properly and curled onto his side, in a way that must have been pathetic enough to make Cronus notice, because he nudged his side with his toes, tentative.

"He’s going to make you an Orphaner," Garfit whispered, looking at Cronus with one eye, over the curve of his own arm. "So when I kill you I get saddled with the job, and the title goes to Mehtar."

Garfit expected Cronus to complain. Instead, the absolute bastard had the decency to think, for once, before he opened his damn maw.

"Mehtar has to go, then."

They were barely fifteen. Mehtar was close to forty hundred.

"Yeah," Garfit said, letting out a breath far too slowly for it to be called a sigh, "I guess he does."

Somehow, the prospect of thinning the clade was not as grim as he thought it should be. At least not compared with the prospect of Cronus being gone. Barely fifteen years old, Garfit Imoogi made his choice, as far as his loyalties went. He never figured out if it was disappointment or pride that clouded Taniwa’s expression, when the bodies started piling up.

**Author's Note:**

> [Askblog for this verse.](http://requisitionforms.tumblr.com)


End file.
